


Chancy is the Night

by E M Pink (quivo), Quivo (quivo)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Turned Into Vampire, M/M, Post Hogwarts AU, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-26
Updated: 2006-05-26
Packaged: 2018-12-03 08:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11528370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quivo/pseuds/E%20M%20Pink, https://archiveofourown.org/users/quivo/pseuds/Quivo
Summary: Many years after the second war, Neville has weathered several twists and turns in his life and of those in his world. It is on the brink of another that he finds himself in a strange place, with an even stranger companion. And not one that he would ever have chosen…Fic originally posted at hp_cliche,here.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously post-war and post-Hogwarts, of course. Implied het.  
>  This was done with help from my kind beta, Kristina, my kind friend, Kheha, and my  
>  generous flist. Thanks to everyone who had an opinion on this – your enthusiasm  
>  carried me through the rough patches! Oh, and thanks to everyone who helped with notes  
>  about ferries and so on, your help really, er, helped.  
>  **Warnings:** Dub-con, some bloodplay. Implied cross-gen pairing in the background. Some  
>  cracky undertones.

*    *    *

** Part I **

Neville opened his eyes, then, at the sight before him, snapped them shut. He didn’t need to inhale deeply of the air around him, already knowing it would smell slightly stale, slightly off. Irresistible, nonetheless. Just like the lithe form he’d caught a glimpse of, as he’d frantically shut his eyes just a moment ago – trim, ever-so-slightly muscled, interestingly proportioned. Maybe a little – just a little shorter than Neville might be, if he was on his feet.

“You know, I was expecting a little more…bravery, Longbottom.” Neville didn’t restrain his shiver – no point in keeping the tension in. There was more than enough sodding tension to go round, what with the supple, tight bonds holding him down, holding his legs stiff to the legs of the eminently uncomfortable chair as his head lolled back, just a little, his posture feeling like some grotesque parody of relaxation. “And yet, you refuse to open your eyes…” A hand worthy of that voice cupped his cheek, almost a little gently, enough to niggle at Neville. He’d been captured what, four, five times? They were never gentle, especially not at first – “Such cowardice in such an experienced killer – it baffles me.” Neville went still then, stiller than stiller than still, because his seething brain had suddenly recognised that almost accentless accent – English. English-Scottish.

Neville’s eyes dilated behind their lids, as if unaware of the fact that the vampire, whose smooth, cold hand was still stroking his cheek, could not see the reaction. And a reaction it was, despite the fact that Neville had come much farther and seen more than enough to dull his tendency to quiver in fear, because that accent meant that they, the – the vampire, might actually know him, and the comment about experience really only increased the chances of that –

“Although I suppose your bravery is limited to war,” the voice continued, sounding more and more English-Scottish by the minute, making Neville’s ears feel like they were slowly recovering from some sort of – he sighed to himself – charm. _Idiot_. “Isn’t it? You feel the heat of spellfire around you, Longbottom, feel the press of a heated wand to your skin, and you think, _now_ – now, I show them. Right?”

Neville nodded. It was his policy to agree with vampires when they had you strapped thirteen ways to Thursday in an uncomfortable chair in nothing but your pyjama bottoms and socks, with your wand nowhere in sight, and with the odd, musky tingle of magic-dampening wards seeming to finally shiver into the forefront of your consciousness as the (probably) De-Sensing charm’s efficacy waned. It was a good policy. It ensured that he usually lived through these sorts of situations while his braver, prouder contemporaries did not.

“Right.” That smooth voice dropped, now, to a murmur. “You are a fool, Longbottom. The entire Department of Aurors are all fools. Spellfire is nothing –” that stroking hand, the one Neville had almost forgotten, suddenly slipped down and gripped his neck, and Neville felt his eyes bulge – “ – nothing to what nature and magic have given me.” Neville gurgled, trying to agree around the tightening press of those cold, steely fingers, and predictably failed. The attempt seemed to satisfy the vampire, as he let go, chuckling softly. “See what marks I leave on your soft, babyish skin? Just from a casual little squeeze?”

Neville agreed, nodding his head dully, the dull pain in his windpipe shivering together with the tracks of cool fire around his neck, all into a mass of p-p-pain pain pain –

“You won’t forget this, I trust,” the vampire said, smugly, now back to stroking his cheek again as he fought not to hold back the whimpers, but couldn’t really, because letting sound out would hurt, oh Merlin _Fuck_ it did – “You’re not stupid, Neville. I think you’ve learned that, after all these years.” Neville’s eyes bulged again, making him open them to see, because oh god he didn’t personally _know_ vampires, and if they knew his real name it could mean – “Oh, do close your eyes. This will be much better that way.”

Neville forgot to obey as cold, almost unfamiliar, half-lidded blue eyes drifted over his face and loomed closer and closer as no, no, that was not, oh god, he wasn’t god fuck no kissing? It was? Kissing him?

Cool lips. Practiced tongue. Teeth that pierced his tongue, just a little, as Neville felt his stupid-as-fuck mouth opening and letting in the wonderfully skilled tongue of a _vampire, I’m kissing a bleeding vampire, I’m SO FUCKED_ –

Indeed, by the time the strange kiss ended, Neville was fucked. Just in another sense. One of those cool, threatening hands was stroking his bare nipple as another one trailed down his chest, and Neville’s eyes had long been closed, and were now staying closed as the vampire nuzzled his neck. He was almost too far gone to groan as a soft, cool tongue licked at a spot near his ear that felt increasingly numb, and the other hand began to squeeze the traitorous swell of his cock. The vampire laughed softly when he moaned, and for some dizzying minutes, all Neville knew was that hand, and those teeth that were sort of piercing his earlobe in the most sensitive –

And then Neville was groaning, around the hurt that lingered in his throat, because this rarely felt good, especially after the war, when there was no adrenaline to push him into doing and suggesting and looking where he really shouldn’t, and but oh that was – _fuck_.

Neville opened his eyes, slowly, what felt like hours later, to silence. An empty room bereft of that odd smell of different magic, different life, was all around him, and his bonds were – he tested them – still fucking there.

Neville scowled tiredly, then, as he began to shift in the chair, planning his escape, scowled even harder. The bloody bastard had wanked him off and maybe even _bitten_ him (well, maybe not – if he was a vampire now, he’d have had to feel _something_ while it was happening. And anyway, he would’ve snapped the sodding bonds in that case, just by trying) but hadn’t seen fit to clean up the sopping mess he’d made of Neville’s pyjamas. Scowling, Neville put himself to work wriggling carefully out of the ropes. Strange that it irked him more that the idiot vampire (goodness knew why it’d left him in the first place) had made him blast out enough come to coat himself in a thoroughly teenager-ish fashion and leave without even trying to clean up the fruit of his seduction.

*   *   *

After a copious amount of wriggling and panting in desperation, Neville finally found his legs free. It took a great deal more determination to stretch them out – oh, the _pain_ – and try to heave to his feet, still strapped in the chair. Somehow, eyes watering, he did it, the pain seeming to throb in from all directions, making him stagger as he began to get his bearings. Now, if he could just position the chair properly, so his running backwards into a bare stony wall would actually make some kind of difference, he could –

_Crack!_

Just like that, the horrible, musty trap of the magic-dampening ward released with a pop, making Neville’s hair stand on end for a full minute as he panted, almost sobbed, treasuring the tingling feeling of _rightness_ that overcame him as his magic surged to the fore. A long moment passed, seeing him struggle to right himself emotionally and physically, preparing, so to speak, for the coming escape. What did it matter, anyway, if it felt like he was being let go? Only fools didn’t take advantages because they didn’t trust them –

Neville took in a breath, taking careful not of what was him and what was the still-supple, still-strong bonds of the chair and the chair itself, weighing heavy on him and putting red grooves into his skin as he recited the three D’s, to calm himself before –

There – _there_! Oh, Merlin, he’d done it –

Steps began to sound outside the hidden door of the Ministry safe room even before Neville crashed to the ground, utterly drained, and he’d never been as grateful to see Ron Weasley’s red hair in his life.

Grateful beyond words to feel the usual arguments and panicked questions starting up around him, Neville allowed himself to slip into a blissful slumber. He’d earned it, being tossed off by a fucking _vampire_.

*   *   *

“So, let me get this straight,” Harry said tiredly, glaring over at Ron to shut his tirade up. “It – the vampire swindled you into entering his home –”

“Hardly his home,” Neville muttered, rubbing at his aching neck, “it was as empty my arse feels right this minute, I tell you.”

“Swindled you,” Harry continued, giving Ron a quelling look as he muttered something about delusional bastards, “then knocked you out with a –”

“I don’t know,” Neville admitted, not feeling the least bit embarrassed, “but I think it was some kind of mix of a masking charm and a De-Sensing charm, if none of the standard spells could find me –”

“They found a lump on the back of your _head_ , Neville,” Ron hissed looking furious. “What kind of vampire slayer –”

“Vampire adjudicator,” Neville interrupted blandly.

“I don’t _care!”_ Ron roared. “All signs indicate that he _hit you on the head_ , for fuck’s sake!”

“Think my job is easy?” Neville asked, quietly. “They’ve never been happy, you know – inevitable that there’s some unrest –”

“ _Happy?_ Since when do I give a flying –”

“Ron! _Ron!_ Sit down.” Ron sat, Harry having used his Obey The DOM Head tone. “So, Neville, you’re de-magicked and de-sensed and tied up in a cosy chair. What next?”

“I really have no clue, actually,” Neville mused, giving Ron a hard look when he snorted. “Oh, don’t look at me like that – not like your lot understand half anything vampires do in the first place –”

“Neville,” Harry said, in the OTDH tone. Neville obeyed.

“He was very odd,” he began, a little unhelpfully. “Did the taunting bit all right, except for the fact where he knew I was a killer (they don’t usually know, I try to be just a random wizard, see), and knew I’d fought in some kind of battle. He went on about spellfire being no match for magic and nature for a bit, and that’s where he started strangling –”

“What?” Harry asked, looking confused.

“I know,” Neville replied, injecting some of his own weary confusion into the mix. “It felt like he was trying to prove some kind of point, but it just got past me, somehow.” Harry nodded, his eyes fixed on thin air, obviously off in that little land Heads of the DOM probably had to visit regularly to come up with the strangely correct theories they often used. Neville kept quiet, only scratching at the boundlessly irritating lump on the back of his head.

Ron didn’t.

“So, Neville,” he said instead, with that low, almost friendly tone that Neville had long figured out to be his strategic one, “how’d you get out, anyway?” Neville stiffened, remembering a very, very, _very_ different stiffening that had happened before that, and couldn’t help thinking of the almost lackadaisical way he’d been handled (oh god, _handled_ , yes) by a member of a group who were always rather against that sort of fraternization, if there was to be no biting coming of it. If there was anything he’d learnt to truly expect of a vampire, it was intensity. Now, how it showed itself wasn’t always the same – “Neville! I asked you a question, for Christ’s sake!”

“Harry’s trying to think, Ron,” Neville said kindly, in that way that he knew always rankled with Ron. Harry, shaking himself, suddenly looked at him and – shit, he could feel the trouble –

“Actually, I’d quite like to know too, Neville.” – speeding merrily along. Almost like the fast, swift glide of that cool, cool hand on heated cloth –

“I,” Neville said, wearily, “I am not – I am very, very inclined to think he let me go, Harry.”

“That’s ‘sir’ to you, Neville,” Ron said viciously, but the look on Harry’s face had gone from focused to frighteningly intent, and after a moment of the look being turned on him, he subsided into red-faced silence.

“Did he bite you, Neville?” Harry asked suddenly, eyes narrowing. Neville started to shake his head (it had been the first thing the Aurors had tested, of course), then, remembering that heavenly little nip right at the end, just as he’d thought his balls would physically burst from pleasure –

“I – I think so. Not a proper bite, just a…” Neville tried to gesture something meaningful that didn’t somehow involve the way his cock had felt, coming at last, or the way he had felt the teeth on his tongue during the kiss. He must have pulled it off, because Harry was nodding, sitting back in his chair, eyes gleaming with intent. “Sorry, Harry, but is that all? I’m due for some more work on my windpipe in ten or twenty minutes, so…”

“Just one more question,” Harry said, getting to his feet as Neville did, his hand extended for the usual easy handshake they always shared at the end of any visit. “How long did he hold his grip on your neck?”

Neville shuddered, ignoring the scornful look Ron sent him. “A minute, Harry. Just a fucking _minute_. And I swear, by _Merlin_ it was scary. It just –” he paused, looking uncertainly in Harry’s direction, but the other man’s eyes were encouraging, as was the somewhat appraising look on his face, “ – it felt like steel. Cool, flesh-covered steel, strangling me to death without a thought.” Neville shuddered again. “It’s just – none of them’s ever gotten close enough to try that on me. Maybe that’s why I’m so…” Ron’s eyes glinted at him as he opened the door, but Harry had just sent him enough of a warning look that he kept whatever familiar slur he’d been about to make. “Nice talking to you, Harry, as always.”

“I think I can truly say it was my pleasure, Neville,” Harry said, smiling a little, but not much like the boy Neville knew was still somewhere deep in there, behind the polished glasses and the long hair and imposing, manly features. “If you’re contacted again –”

“What?” Neville stopped short. “You’re joking – the bastard practically let me –”

“Yes,” Harry said, quietly. “Let you go. Something’s going on here, Neville. Just – if he contacts you again, try to give me a warning.” He paused as they all exited the smallish, cool little office. “You know how.”

Neville nodded, despite the feeling that Harry was somehow not thinking of all of this properly. Despite the odd quiver in his stomach at the thought of those blue eyes and pale lips returning.

Rolling his eyes at himself, Neville made his way through the familiar corridors of the underground warren that was the Department of Mysteries’ Office Structure, easily finding the heavily restricted Floo station and purchasing a bit of powder to heave himself along to St. Mungo’s. Surely, he (or Harry. Or, on second thoughts, just Harry) was being paranoid, and defeatist. He’d be fine – he’d snag another case in a week or so after getting his throat seen to, and he’d be fine again, no vampires lurking around the corner to debauch him so thoroughly and secretly, you know, and all that.

*   *   *

Of course, as these things always turned out to be, Neville was wrong. But, thankfully Harry, all-powerful Head of the Department of Mysteries, ended up being wrong as well. In a rather unpleasant manner.

_See, Harry_ , Neville thought furiously, behind his gag, _there was a small problem with contacting your stupid arse. Just a small, tiny one, really_ –

“I do hope you passed along my message, Neville,” the vampire said, flexing his fingers, claws extending cruelly as he stood over Neville’s shaking form on the shabby settee, looking quite gleeful. Neville tried not to think about what that glee was for (or whether it involved him being vampire-d or being drunk dry), but it was hard not to as the vampire, flipping dark, nondescript hair over one shoulder with an expression that looked very alarmingly like it was satisfied, began to tear open his pyjama top.  God, was it – he going to cut him open, first? _Oh, please make it quick_ –

“Be an awful shame,” the vampire continued, voice going soft and low, dangerously low, “to go through all that trouble to see my message floating about only in your stupid head, Longbottom.” A large-scale mirroring charm suddenly flickered into life, setting off stupid lights of recognition in Neville’s panicked head as the images on the mirror opposite them swirled into life. For a fleeting moment, Neville entertained wild, incoherent thoughts about the inventor of that charm coming to rescue him somehow, but that moment was very quickly cut short as he realised, with no small sense of horror, that the mirror was showing very clear footage from the hotly contested convene of the Wizengamot scheduled to take place that afternoon.

“Mmmhpm!” Neville, forgetting himself for a moment, glared at the vampire as best as he could. Thankfully, he only got a slow, chilling smile in return.

“Oh, yes. I’d better start praying that whoever you passed my message onto has some sort of authority in that stuffy little room, not to mention good sense,” he drawled down at Neville, his hand moving up to caress Neville’s still-healing neck as he moved to the side. “If not, things might get a bit…ugly.”

Neville tried to stifle a whimper of fear as the monitoring charm zoomed in slightly ( _pre-programmed_ , he could hear the inventor whispering silkily into his ear, as if only yesterday he’d been in that bed, in that room), centring somewhat on the brightest figure at the long, shimmering table.

Hermione Granger, newest member of the Wizengamot. Neville wanted to close his eyes, but found them betraying him, cataloguing her every fluid move and only slightly girlish smile as she conversed politely with the stiff blonde next to her. He’d seen enough death, and yet he could only –

The miniature Hermione suddenly stilled, then stormed to her feet, wand out, suddenly every inch the terror she’d been on the battlefield at the worst moments. The man beside her did the same thing, as did the heavily jewelled woman on her right, but with less aplomb, less speed. Hermione was incanting something now, wildly, face a study of fear, and Neville’s heart felt like it was being sat on as he watched the sudden accumulation of formless mist that he recognised immediately for –

A dark cape suddenly swirled into view, the mist disappearing, and though the form of the vampire obscured Neville’s view of his friend, he could still see the three Wizengamot members shrinking back, could still see that expansive gesture that presaged Hermione standing up for someone less than able to do so for themselves. Neville moaned around the gag, furious with himself, furious for not thinking, not remembering what was fucking well going on in wizarding politics, not realising –

The vampire struck, and, for a moment, Neville almost won the battle to look away. But suddenly the bastard was rebounding, writhing, and the table between him and Hermione and the others was glowing a malevolent yellow, and suddenly they were ducking, and blurred brown things were whistling across their heads and into the mist swirling about them, and Neville could see spells hurtling across the hall now, because the charm was expanding –

The mirror suddenly went dull, suddenly allowing Neville to feel the pressure around his neck. “That was satisfactory, but foolish in the amount of lives it endangered, Longbottom,” the vampire said coldly. Neville, still shaking from the nearness of what he’d just seen, decided this was one time he could allow himself not to assent. The gag was pulled off then, roughly, with the obvious intent to question him. “Who did you tell?”

Neville drew in a shaky breath, saying nothing. This idiot obviously didn’t know him – how else would he try to pry information from Neville just after he’d shown Neville the almost-death of one of his close friends in a way that indicated that he was probably part of the fucking planning that had gone into the attack?

The vampire sighed. “This is not a good time to be uncooperative, you know.” Neville’s lips pinched together as he fought the urge to call on his magic, call on his _wand_ , call on something – he knew it wouldn’t work, with the smothering closeness of the magic-suppressing wards tingling all over, but it didn’t abate the need to try.

The vampire moved into view again, blocking Neville’s view of the mirror as he sank gracefully to a half-crouch in front of Neville, giving him a brief view of pale, slightly drawn skin and calculating blue eyes before Neville turned his head away. That didn’t stop the vampire from reaching out to stroke his faintly throbbing neck almost admiringly, the feel of those cool, horribly familiar fingers a direct intimation of more suffocation to come.

But suddenly the vampire was looming closer instead, and Neville realised with no small measure of panic that it was his _face_ he was moving closer, but before he could flinch away or – or hit him in the face with his _shoulder_ , defend himself, do _anything_ , that pale, nondescript mouth had attached itself to Neville’s throbbing neck and he could feel fangs on his skin.

Neville gulped as the vampire’s arms crept around him, feeling the wet, odd warmness of a tongue as it licked his neck, numbing, soothing the spot as the mouth began to tighten, as the fangs began to press harder –

“Harry Potter,” Neville heard himself whisper. “Please. _Please_.”

The vampire chuckled against his neck, and bit.

*    *    *

Hours later, Neville began to slip back into consciousness, a persistent ache throbbing unpleasantly in his neck where the vampire had bitten painfully into it. His breathing was laboured, and he felt oddly weak and fragile and tired and afraid for a – for a vampire –

With determination, Neville managed to position his head at the correct angle to try to see what the skin on his left hand looked like. From here, it looked more familiar than not – pale, quite dirty, a little freckled from sunning in Madeira on his trip two or three weeks ago. Weeks, now, that felt like years.

_Do vampires have freckles_? Neville asked himself, as tears began to collect in his eyes, as his head began to swim again. Suddenly, things were growing darker and darker, and he could feel the pain in his neck lessening greatly. Perhaps this was it.

Perhaps this was the change, and these were the last truly human moments he would have –

But no, his head was still swimming, and his neck was still throbbing obstinately, and his eyesight was just blurring that way because of his tears. Maybe. Maybe not.

Either way, he had to get out, and that wouldn’t happen with him sitting here like a lump. Slowly, painstakingly, Neville worked his way out of the ropes, which were either not as tight as before, or numbed his limbs enough that they didn’t feel as tight. The pain of renewed blood circulation hit him as he finally wriggled his arms out of their bonds, making him slump back into the settee momentarily, but that was fine compared to the pain in his legs when he finally got them free.

Standing up was the biggest shock, as it forced himself to take notice of his appearance in the mirror. For a long moment, Neville gaped at the shadows under his eyes, at the dried blood that seemed to be smeared all over his neck and shoulders and splattered down his front, at the blood-soaked wound on his neck that was probably the cause of it all. Restraining his impulse to be sick, Neville forced himself to try to clean off the wound, so he could at least see if it was infected, but his shirt was too grimy and his hands even worse, so he left off that activity and forced himself to take stock of his surroundings.

Not much to go on, as usual. Empty except for the large, plain mirror and the bloodied settee, the room was unremarkable and useless in every sense of the word. The fact that Neville could still feel the magic-inhibiting wards tingling obscenely on every inch of his skin was the most disheartening, however. Trying the nondescript sole door  to the room achieved nothing, as well, and it was with a faint heart and an increasing sense of panic that Neville finally retired to the settee and set himself the task of being awake until some part of his circumstances changed for the better.

*    *    *

Some time later, Neville rushed back into consciousness, called by the cool fingers drifting over his body. Eyes wide, he realised that the room was dark, that his body was laid down on the settee in a rather more relaxed position than he remembered slipping into sleep from, and that –

“Awake?”

The vampire was on top of him, and, as usual, didn’t seem to weigh half as much as the brute strength in his fingers had implied. It felt disturbingly good, and comforting in a way Neville remembered from his weird stints as part of a relationship.

Cool fingers were stroking his neck, which was still faintly throbbing. “I’m sure you’re thinking I shouldn’t have been quite so enthusiastic, but, seeing as measuring these things is rather touch and go while they’re actually happening…” the vampire bent its head to the wound again, eliciting a helpless shudder from Neville, “…well, I hardly think you can blame me, all things considered.” That maddening tongue began to lick away at the painful area, producing rather embarrassingly fearful whimpers from Neville. The vampire chuckled again. “You really have no idea how positively delicious that makes you sound, do you?”

Closing his eyes, Neville endeavoured to bite back those sounds. It started to become a failing battle after the vampire began to shift in a horribly familiar way, its tongue starting to venture lower and lower until it found one of his nipples while one of its hands made the slow, agonising journey down to his cock. For the second time, Neville found himself unable to hold back his almost pained moans as the vampire handled his cock with a grip just this side of too tight, as the vampire tantalised either nipple with licks and frightening little bites.

Neville couldn’t restrain a yelp as he finally came, but was still clear-headed enough to hear the whisper of, “My name is Ted” fall breathily into his ear as the vampire bit it, sending waves of pleasure through his shaking body.

By the time Neville came to, the vampire (or Ted, as it were. If the smarmy molesting bastard wasn’t lying) was gone, and with him, the oppressive tingling of the magic-suppressing wards. Neville didn’t take more than one minute to summon every fragment of his shaky strength and Apparate, and when he collapsed wearily to the floor in the Ministry saferoom, he did so with a distinct thought that this could get very, very annoying, after a while.

*    *    *

“Fuck you, Harry! I’m answering fuck-all if you don’t tell me what the fuck’s going on, understand? If you don’t feel like sharing your super-secret DOM crap, you can kiss my arse and find some other poor sod to be your frigging contact, all right?” Neville pulled his head out of the flames, suppressing sympathy for just how frazzled Harry looked as he did so. He stood slowly, muttering to himself as he tried to soothe his aching knees. A snort made him look up.

“I told you applying to him would be useless,” Severus said smugly, pointedly not looking in Neville’s direction. Neville rolled his eyes, deciding it was probably about time for him to go in search of a shirt to replace the one the vamp- the one _Ted_ had so casually ripped to shreds. Ever since their turbulent, disastrously on-off relationship towards the end of the War (near-death experiences had done strange, strange things to Neville’s libido at seventeen), Severus had made it a point not to eye him up or even (in some cases) look at him while he was undressed in any way. It was really quite stupid, since Neville had it on very good authority that Severus couldn’t keep his eyes off the arse of the firmly straight and perpetually conventionally dressed Harry, not to talk of the back of Neville’s sometimes admittedly too-tight Muggle jeans.

“Sometimes, I wonder,” Severus went on, his tone cutting as his eyes flicked hastily away from Neville’s chest as he struggled into one of the slightly ratty school-issue things that were always present in the storerooms at Hogwarts, always serviceable if a bit tight on the arms nowadays, “how that uselessly indiscreet boy turned into such a tight-lipped, stuffy old man –”

“Severus, I don’t feel like grousing about Harry at this moment, all right? He’ll come round, he always does, as you know very well,” Neville said, cutting into Severus’ familiar diatribe. “And besides, weren’t you about to tell me what that bite might’ve done?” After a minute or two of glaring (Severus had always liked to finish off his points), Neville was allowed to finally sit down at the smallish table before the fire in Severus’ quarters and go through the information his crabby ex-lover had gathered on such short notice.

The prognosis was awful, to say the least.

“According to at least three-quarters of the books in my possession, you should be quite the vampire as of now,” Severus said slowly. “The other quarter disagree, but mostly insist that you are now the undying mate of the vampire that bit you –”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Neville said, voice hushed. Yelling wasn’t going to make this go away. No – if the books were right, _nothing_ was going to make this go away –

“And, if you had some form of sexual intercourse with your vampire –”

“Please, for the love of Merlin, don’t call him that!”

“ – consensual sexual intercourse, that is,” Severus went on doggedly, not meeting Neville’s eye, “then you have only strengthened the bond to the degree that no outside manipulation will be able to break it.” Neville’s head sunk down into his hands. There really were no words – “Did you –”

“Of course I fucking did _not_ , how dare you insinuate –”

“I’m insinuating nothing, Neville,” Severus said, voice oddly – good Lord, no – soothing. _Soothing_ , from Severus, was as good as telling you your life was over, and that he was trying to assuage himself of the guilt that watching you die would probably bring about. Good Lord, indeed – “The problem is –”

“Just say it, I’m _doomed_ –”

“Consent in these books is, er, classified as both verbal and non-verbal, you see,” Severus went on, ignoring Neville’s desperate tone. “Now, if you actively said no –”

Neville froze.

Severus did the same, for a moment. “Well, then. I’m afraid you might be in a bit of a quandary.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

** Part II **

“…so that’s why I need you to contact your vampire again,” Harry finished, eyeing Neville in an uncharacteristically nervous manner. Neville, who was pacing the confines of Harry Big Shot Fucking DOM Head’s office as quickly as he could, didn’t understand exactly why Harry was letting the tense silence between them stand, but thought it might have something to do with the giant poultice on his neck, courtesy of a surprisingly motherly-ish Snape just thirty minutes before this horrible sham of a meeting.

“So,” Neville finally forced out, “let me get this straight. McLaggen the Elder –”

“Phillip McLaggen,” Harry corrected. Neville glared at him, and kept on as if he’d not heard.

“So McLaggen the Elder is pushing for new restrictions on the vampire community,” he said, slowing his pacing a little. “And the laws he’s advocating –”

“ – would at least partially cause the enslavement and general lowering of status of every vampire in Britain,” Harry finished off, his voice gaining the edge it always had when he spoke about politics.

“Is he mad?” Neville asked. “I mean, just as a side question –”

“If not mad, I’ve a good mind to help him along to insanity,” Harry muttered. “Things would be a lot bloody easier if the bastard could just do us all a favour and die. In a way, I’m inclined to just sit back and watch the vampires take him out, but he does always sit next to Hermione at the Wizengamot convenes, so she’s definitely just as at risk as he is.”

“Any way you could convince her to switch seats?”

“It would look suspicious as all hell,” Harry said morosely, “and anyway, when I tried to tell her to, she refused.” He sighed, frustration evident on his face. “Days like this, one wonders if fear isn’t a much more efficient tool than respect, the way things pan out –”

“Go down that route and I’ll help everyone hunt you down,” Neville said, finally flopping into one of the empty chairs opposite Harry’s desk.

“Figures,” Harry grumbled, but in a lighter tone than before. “Anyway. McLaggen’s being a royal tit, and at the worst time, if the reports of vampire unrest are true. Which I’m inclined to think is bull, since there haven’t been any major attacks or unconsented bitings for a while –”

Neville sat up, wide-eyed, and interrupted immediately. “But that _confirms_ it, Harry! If there’s been no bitings for a while, it means the vampire community is busy planning something else, don’t you see?”

Groaning, Harry put his head in his hands. “I really, really wonder if someone’s directing all this,” he said, voice a little muffled from behind his hands. “It’s too bloody convenient, having McLaggen propose that pack of garbage just as the vampires are campaigning –”

“Campaigning?” Neville interrupted, surprise colouring his tone. “I hadn’t heard that…”

“Oh, some of them were,” Harry said, head still in his hands, “A formal delegation was sent from Dover about the time you first went missing with your vampire –” Neville flinched “ – requesting a re-convene on the matter of the Vampire Laws of 1694. The delegation’s presentation was deferred in favour of the one in which McLaggen proposed the new, far more restrictive laws.” Neville tried not to groan. To describe the delegation’s vampires as angry, at that moment, would probably have been a gross underestimation. “Of course, the re-convene was cancelled.”

“As horrible as it sounds, I agree with you, Harry,” Neville said slowly. “It’s just too convenient.”

“I know,” Harry said, sitting up with an angry expression on his face. “It reminds me of how Lucius Malfoy tried to muddy the waters a year after the war, during Draco’s trial – remember?”

“Do I ever,” Neville said simply, choosing not to even try to cast his mind back to the tenseness of that strange period of time. Everyone had been so drained even a year after Harry had very quietly done Voldemort in that the many times deferred trial had seemed a superhuman task to get through by then. Neville had been one of the Order members assigned to keeping watch on Draco, who had been rightly paranoid that his father would try to sabotage his already rather convoluted trial with the Ministry. The confusing chaos that Lucius had managed to whip up in the three months leading up to Draco’s verdict had made their lives a living hell, heaping suspicion on almost every living wizard that had switched to the Order’s side at some point in the war.

Neville sighed. Even now, Draco’s name wasn’t worth quite as much as Neville’s, despite how much he’d contributed to their cause over the years. The idea that Lucius might be behind all this was both frightening and plausible – the chaos of an assassination of a Wizengamot member would throw the Wizarding World into doubt as well as cast aspersion on Scrimgeour’s fitness as Minister of Magic. And despite how much or, rather, how little Neville thought of Scrimgeour, he’d take him as Minister over Lucius or one of Lucius’ associates any day. The post of Minister had been Lucius’ dream for quite a long time – no reason why he wouldn’t try to use even something as dangerous as a revolution among the British vampire community to get what he wanted.

“Still in touch with Draco, by any chance?” Harry asked ruefully, some of the tension seeming to go out of his frame.

“Sort of,” Neville replied, because ‘sort of’ was what really covered it. He’d revisited it briefly with Draco about a summer or two ago in Madeira, and vaguely remembered the irritating git talking about going to France – “As far as I know, he’s in France somewhere,” he added, trying to be helpful.

“Good,” Harry said firmly, and Neville suddenly knew his propensity for being helpful had just landed him in a whole other cauldron of trouble – “Would you mind flushing him out? You could tell everyone you were going on discretionary leave, and just sort of head for France on the sly…” 

“It better be paid leave, Harry,” Neville said darkly. “And no, I don’t care if I only classify as a consultant – paid leave, at least as much as I earn for a good job, all right? And I’ll be going the Muggle way, too, to minimise suspicion, so I’ll thank you not to track me.” Looking at Harry’s suddenly quite sunny expression, Neville felt an insane urge to take the last sentence back.

“Splendid – you can stop by Dover on the way easily, then,” Harry said, and Neville suppressed a groan. He should have known – “If your vampire’s nowhere to be found, you can just twiddle on along to Calais and start searching for Draco from there.” A short pause ensued, in which Harry looked at Neville with an ardently hopeful expression. “Can’t you, Neville?”

“I suppose I can,” was the grudging reply. Rising irritably to his feet, Neville didn’t have to look at Harry to know that that horribly pleased crafty expression would be on his face. DOM Head, indeed – when Harry took it in his head to be so, he could rival Dumbledore for sheer nerve in his methods of manipulation. Perhaps that was why he was so good at it – his methods always seemed so simple and so blunt that one gave in, thinking that they could see what he was after, before realising that not only was he after that, he was after their thinking that the horrible extra task had been their idea. “I hate you, you know? Please retire before I come back.”

“I’ll try, Neville,” Harry replied, his crafty smile gradually becoming only friendly as his eyes followed Neville out the door.

 

*    *    *

 

It was by the time Neville had returned to his rather listless flat on Diagon Alley before he realised he hadn’t mentioned Snape’s opinion of what might happen (or might have already happened) to him because of the vampire’s massive bite in his neck, and by then, he’d wasted a considerable amount of time picking up supplies for his little impromptu holiday. The several packs of ammunition for his rapid-fire crossbow impeded him in his frantic search for quill, ink and parchment, and by the time Neville thought to just Floo back to Harry’s office, the small slip of paper showing the day’s password to his friend’s direct grate was a dull grey, signifying that it had expired or been changed since his visit.

Cursing himself for not thinking this through properly, Neville sat down to scribble down a somewhat hasty note to Harry about Severus’ findings on the bite, making sure to caution Harry against sending Severus an owl on the matter so as not to disturb him. As long as it had been since the War and their mutually hateful teacher-student relationship, Harry and Severus were still irrational enough about each other as to stoop to doing things only to annoy the other person, so next after the letter to Harry was a quick one to Severus in a similar style, asking him not to worry Harry with the details of his bite.

That done, Neville began to pack as quickly and neatly as possible, taking care to shrink down packs of stakes enough to stuff in the pocket of every pair of jeans he intended to take. In his experience, the only thing worse than not having stakes on hand to fill one’s crossbow was not having the ammunition in a convenient place at the right time. He’d learned that the hard way, with five vampires breathing down his neck on an unfairly cloudy day on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, and had stuffed all his pockets with stakes ever since.

Standing, Neville looked over all his packed things, trying hard to think of anything he might have missed. When nothing occurred to him, he dug out more writing supplies – Gran was always a nightmare whenever he didn’t inform her of his travels – and settled in to put down a nice, falsely reassuring set of paragraphs that she’d understand to mean ‘if I don’t come back, sue the Ministry’. It took a surprisingly short time, as did appending a paragraph to Severus’ letter to tell him where he would likely be for the next couple of weeks. As soon as Neville finished the usual silly debate he had with himself over how to sign off letters to Severus in general, he was, in all appearance, on his way.

 

*    *    *

 

By the time Neville finally got to Dover, he had realised two things. Firstly, that every British vampire was either avoiding him, or was closeted away and unable to stop him with polite conversation and the greedy look vampires got in their eyes when they thought they’d cornered someone naïve, however temporarily. Neville grinned ruefully – that was one of the setbacks of becoming a professional vampire adjudicator, really. The Adsociatonis de Judem de Strigae (or, as Neville preferred to call it, the Ajays) picked candidates primarily with vampire lusts in mind – soft skin, clean-cut looks, nervous movements, shy smile, aura of innocence – because of the simple, yet extremely effective rationalisation that vampires would rather listen to adjudicators that they found attractive. Whether much listening went on in the day-to-day activities of a normal Ajay member was not the point – the stipulation of attractiveness to vampires was non-negotiable.

Neville, even in his rather depressed, angry state post-war, had fulfilled that point to the letter. It had partly been due to the fact that he had strangely appealing men and women chatting him up at strange hours in the morning after the final breakup with Severus that Neville had thought to apply to the angelic, yet frighteningly knowledgeable Su Li (another wartime ally and friend) for advice on staying out of trouble. Neville wondered, sometimes, if he’d have come down this path if he’d just asked Hermione what on earth was wrong with him after the fifteenth devastatingly out-of-his-league partner had begged desperately to bite him during sex (and been soundly refused forty times. Gran had always been very clear when he was young about not letting people he didn’t know well bite him and it had stuck with him), but on the whole, he’d been happy with his choice.

Perhaps until now.

Because, the second thing Neville had realised on bunking in a tightly secured wizarding inn on the outskirts of Dover (magical blood tests at the door. Dover had copious amounts of vampires flitting to and from France all year round) was that he was being followed. It wasn’t so much that he’d been seeing someone repeatedly in strange places or even that he’d spotted the tell-tale signs of Disillusionment Charms or even Invisibility Cloaks (hard to get after the War, those. A lot of top weavers had sided with Voldemort in return for freer access to demiguise hair) – no, it was worse than that.

It was a Feeling.

Neville emptied his pockets in the sparse room he’d rented, making sure to leave the shrunken stakes and crossbow in the right one as he prepared to make an appearance at dinner. He hated Feelings in general, despite how useful wizarding intuition (as Hermione called it) usually was. He’d not gone more than a week without horrible creeping feelings of failure and general foreboding washing over him at every opportunity during the war, but disliked them on principle because they usually couldn’t be proved, and sometimes weren’t much help in preparing oneself for whatever horrid event was to come. And because they were downright unsettling, sometimes, even if they let you realise that the nice-looking lad or laddette in tight clothes likely wanted to feast on your blood as well as do naughty things to your cock.

His Feeling increased in intensity as he found a stool at the bar and nervously chatted up the barman. Neville smiled and said yes to fish and chips and no to the drink the barman, eyeing him up and down, predatorily offered for free, and tried to relax when people tried to talk to him or chat him up, or just brushed by him carelessly.

It was the fifth brush – or rather, bump – that Neville almost jerked out of his seat at, because –

Cold blue eyes looked down at him. “So sorry,” he heard, and it was all Neville could do not to draw his arms and fire _right then_ , because the vampire, _his_ vampire – “Would you mind if I sat next to you?” – was there. Looking desperately at the once-full seat on his right, Neville could only shake his head and watch as that lithe figure eased gracefully into the seat, cool hands brushing his thigh in a way that burned. The barman showed up and broke the charged silence between them, eying up Ted and Neville with a distinctively jealous look in his eye as he was told that no, Ted wasn’t really thirsty for more than a shot or two of plain vodka, but would like a substantial order of what Neville was having.

“I’ve always loved fried food,” Ted said lowly, leaning forward in a way that made Neville’s heart seize in an altogether strange way, tendrils of long dark hair slipping out of his half ponytail. Neville mm-hmmed and continued to try to eat his meal as Ted audibly licked and smacked his lips (too audibly, too _visibly_ , for Christ’s sake) as his own plate and unadorned glass arrived. “I can’t remember if you did, though,” Ted said, leaning over his food with an oddly hungry glance in Neville’s direction. “You never seemed to be there on fried Fridays, at Hogwarts…”

Neville dropped his fork, coughing. Ted’s hands seemed to be on him immediately, thudding at his back and murmuring comfort in a slightly throaty way Neville weakly thought should _not_ be allowed in public, even as his mind ran through all the possibilities of who this bastard might be, if he knew him from Hogwarts –

“I’ll save you a bit of worrying,” Ted said, when Neville was finally trying to shakily eat again, “The name’s Ted Nott.”

Neville froze, trying to think, trying to search out the lie that _had_ to be behind that statement. But his mind was telling him, in a hushed, rather Hermione-like voice, that Nott the Younger hadn’t really been seen to take part in the war in any form, and had actually not been seen or spotted after it ended. He had been one of the many declared missing and thought dead; one of the many Neville raised his glass to at the ceremonies every April.

It was horribly destabilising, and even worse because it all sounded quite true. Who would have known, anyway, in those dark times, whether Theodore had been turned or just dead? Vampires lived in the shadowy recesses of the wizarding world, for the most part, and usually kept their secrets well to themselves if they lived in a wizarding community. For them, living secretly among Muggles was technically out of the question but easy to accomplish if one was discreet. Theodore fit the bill – he’d been so bloody discreet at Hogwarts that it had taken Neville until third year to even know who he was, and until fifth year to vaguely decide that Theodore wasn’t close friends with anyone but Daphne Greengrass. Who was dead since the war. Who might have known, and told no one.

Whatever the explanation, Neville didn’t want to hear any more – all he wanted to know was how to get _out_ of being strapped to something for five hours again. So, having regained some or all of his calm, he began with a simple question, as was his wont.

“How the bloody hell did you get in here?”

Ted smiled. It did distressing things to Neville’s cock, and had him comparing that smooth, almost flawless face to his abstract memory of Theo Nott’s pimples and perpetual detached, sullen look. “I know some people.” Neville tried not to snort – such a bloody conventional smokescreen of an answer would have been laughable coming from any other vampire but one that had successfully caught, unlawfully detained and even more unlawfully bitten him _twice_ and lived to tell the tale.

“Whatever,” Neville said, deciding he could be blunt – he assumed more kidnap and confinement was on the menu tonight, so he could bloody well afford to be – “How’d you find me?”

Ted sighed, leaning over. Neville went still as those familiar, cold fingers stroked the glamoured bandage on his neck almost lovingly, before drifting temporarily up into his hair. “There’s no need to question me, you know,” Ted said lowly, eyeing Neville up and down. “We could just –”

“No,” Neville said firmly, brushing away the vampire’s steady hand with a slightly shaky one. “What do you _want_ from me? Didn’t you get enough of your jollies from the last time, or –”

“I should have thought that would be obvious, by now,” Ted said simply, retracting his hand and setting to his meal again with a will. “You have a contact I need contact with, so –”

Neville laughed shakily, lowly. “You know there’s no way in hell that that’s happening, right?”

“Of course,” was the calm answer. “Hence the reason I bit you, the reason why I’m here. If I know anything about you and your…contact, you’re heading for France on his suggestion to catch up on old schoolmates.” Ted paused. Neville could feel his cold eyes drilling into the side of his neck, but forced himself to keep trying to eat. “Am I right?”

“Going to help me, then?” Neville said, skewering the last bit of fish on his plate with unnecessary vigour.

“Again, that’s obvious,” Ted replied, voice shot through with that horribly arousing intensity that Neville was increasingly wishing he didn’t possess.

Neville threw down his fork, unable to force any more food down his throat. “We’ll need a contract determining –” But Ted was laughing softly, was putting a shiver-inducing arm around Neville’s waist and leaning close –

“Do you have any sense, Longbottom?” he whispered, lips distressingly close to Neville’s tingling ear. “I bit you. Marked you. _That’s_ our contract.” Ted nibbled lightly on Neville’s ear then, temporarily depriving him of the power to speak. “The reason no vampire’s looked at you since then, I should think. You can’t be turned, unless _I_ turn you.” His voice lowered. “You’re mine.” After a final, almost painful suck on Neville’s earlobe, Ted released him easily, returning his attention to his plate.

Neville tried to ignore the hard-on in his jeans, despite the fact that they were starting to partially cut off his circulation. “I – I see,” was the best he could come up with, then, but Ted didn’t seem to mind. “I – I believe I’ll…retire now, thanks.” Neville gulped, struggling to his feet. “Good to see you.”

The only response he received was a cool, knowing smile.

 

*    *    *

 

Despite the fact of the sickening knowledge that Ted would likely be following him to his room, it was quite a shock when the firm knock on Neville’s door gave way to the tallish, familiar figure. Ted smiled at him – leered at him, more like – and strode in without waiting to be invited to do so. Neville closed the door with shaking hands and hoped against hope that Harry’s wards weren’t closed against Patronuses tonight – it was the only thing he could think of doing on such short notice, and indeed, his silvery horse had only just thundered silently away through the wall on his left moments before the dreaded knock came.

“Rather sparse,” Ted muttered, flinging the sweeping, slightly patched cloak Neville didn’t remember seeing at the bar onto Neville’s as yet pristine double (he groaned inwardly. That wouldn’t help things) bed. “I suppose it’ll do for the night, though,” Ted went on, stretching with mesmerising, sinuous little movements.

“Quite,” Neville muttered in return, grudgingly shifting his pack off the bed and onto the floor as Ted sat down and began to – oh god, could this get _any worse?_ – unlace his boots. “You’re not –”

“I’m not about to sleep in clothes, thanks,” Ted said, cutting him off with a challenging look. “I like the feel of cotton against my bare skin, strangely enough – they’ve got wonderful sheets here, did you know?”

Neville spluttered. “Do you not have your own room or something?”

Ted smirked, peeling off one thigh-high boot after another in a horribly interesting way. “The people I know didn’t see fit to give me one. I didn’t ask for one, anyway…” And then he began to wriggle (sexily) out of his jumper, and Neville had to turn away, or loose all powers of speech. “Why aren’t you undressing, Neville?”

Neville gulped. Powers of speech? Lost, irrevocably, at that – at that _tone_ , that low tone, the way Ted’s tongue seemed to caress his simple name –

“Strip,” Ted ordered, lowly, and Neville couldn’t bring himself to disobey any more than he could leave the room. His fingers shook as he bent down to tug off his boots, and they shook even more as Ted murmured in clear appreciation. It was all Neville could do, for a moment, to wrestle out of his shirt and jumper in a coherent manner as that voice gained even more intensity, sighing in pleasure behind him. “Yes, that’s it. Take everything off…”

Gulping, Neville began to struggle out of his jeans, his exposed feet and chest prickling with gooseflesh, every sigh from Ted feeling like it was caressing him already, pinching at his already hard nipples – “Oh, god yes – just slide those down, all the way down. Take your time, Neville, we’ve lots and lots of time –”

Neville bit back a whimper as he freed his aching, throbbing cock, as his boxers slid easily down his prickling thighs, as he stepped out of them, feeling like every inch of him was on display despite the fact that he had his back turned to Ted. Then Ted’s cool hands gripped his shoulders and turned him firmly round, and his feeling was a reality –

“Yeah,” Ted murmured darkly, his pupils dilating, his fangs visible just between his soft, pale lips, and then Neville was being pushed onto the bed with a slow determination that made him twitch and finally whimper out loud as the vampire’s frame covered his. Neville moaned, writhing uncontrollably as cock met cock, as skin slid against skin, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer amount of slightly warm skin sliding roughly against his, by the soft crackling of the smooth sheets below as Ted insinuated a firm thigh between his and began to tease and kiss at his exposed bite.

“What –” Neville asked, moaned, but Ted’s lips were over his, swallowing his garbled question in desire and wet warmth, and Neville couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t believe he was _letting_ this happen even as inexorable fingers found their way to his aching cock and under and between the clenching cheeks of his arse. Neville moaned and begged as that slick finger found its determined way inside, and was coming almost before it could find that spot, spasming around and within fingers and feeling harsh breath against his neck as he was turned violently over and _licked_ and lubed and pried open with painful pleasure. The moments seemed to flash by awfully fast from then, thudding through Neville in moans and painful thrusts and handfuls of soft, dampened sheets and aching knees and aching cock as Ted’s fingers dug horribly into him, as Ted’s fangs bit into his earlobe again and again and again until all he could feel was a throbbing, sweeping _yes yes yes!_

Whimpering again as his slightly bleeding ear was licked, Neville sank into those strong, merciful arms as they finally lowered him fully onto the thoroughly rumpled bed. Despite the nagging feeling that he’d just done something very, very, _very_ unwise, Neville could barely muster the indignation to do more than try (and fail) to crawl away from Ted’s naked body.

“Where are you going?” Neville, breathing hard, shook his head. There wasn’t any point, was there? Especially not while he was still just a little hard and tender and while those hands were rubbing and pinching his nipples so agreeably – “I said we had all night, didn’t I?”

Neville sighed. “So you did.” Struggling against the arm that detained him as the other hand began to fist his cock would only weaken him further, anyway. He could accept this – for now.

 

*    *    *  
 

The next morning, Neville woke up tangled in a nearly painful grip and pinned to the bed, and for a moment, had cause to wonder exactly where he was, and whose fiendishly strong arms were wrapped around his waist. Then he twisted in the detaining arms and got half-suffocated for the glimpse of a horribly familiar face, and had no choice but to depressingly resign himself to awaiting his eerily silent partner.

Partner, yeah. Or lover. Or fucker. Neville shut his eyes in embarrassment, his face heating awfully as he remembered just how many times Ted had brought him off, last night. He closed his eyes, wondering if his earlobes would be beyond repair – he remembered being bitten there at least fifty times, he was sure – or if the wound on his neck had been reopened. Those areas were throbbing slightly, filling him with dread as his sleepy imagination thought up a wild scheme in which he’d trade his ears and some of the skin on his neck to be set free, and have to replace them with those horrible red rubber Skin Fillings, and end up being called Red-Ears by all and sundry.

His panicked vision came to an end abruptly as Ted suddenly began moving slowly, relaxing the tight grip on his waist. Neville opened his eyes warily as the vampire’s arm disappeared from around his waist, correctly interpreting that he was probably getting out of bed. Stifling the urge to look (stupid mesmerising dominant molesting bastard), Neville also began to do the same thing. Or, at least until a familiar hand caught hold of his and dragged him back down onto the mussed bed he’d very regrettably shared with Ted last night.

“Morning,” Ted said, smiling predatorily as he dragged Neville into an entirely too tempting embrace. “Well, then – who’s awake nice and early, eh?” Neville blushed and stammered and tried vainly to get away, but that didn’t stop Ted from palming his already hard cock and calling him dirty names as he wanked him off. Neville wobbled on unsteady knees on the somewhat firm mattress and wondered inwardly how on earth one managed to put one’s fingers _everywhere_ in such a manner, and soon surrendered to the now-familiar painfully pleasurable release Ted was working so hard – _so hard_ , Neville thought faintly to himself – to bring about.

“Your turn, now,” Ted said, nipping fiercely at one of Neville’s throbbing ears. “Go on – do it _hard_ …”

And, to his shame and disgust and wild arousal, Neville found himself returning the favour, slicking his hand wet with his own saliva and clutching confusedly at a dreamily firm buttock as Ted gasped into his hands. By the time Ted groaned and came, Neville was already quite hard again, enough that Ted grinding hard into his hand and spurting shockingly hot come everywhere made him ache terribly, and moan like a fool when Ted idly fondled his tight balls, minutes later.

“If we keep going like this, we’ll never leave,” Ted whispered roughly, into Neville’s painfully sensitive ear. It was almost enough. Neville squeezed his eyes shut, wondering what on earth would become of him after all this debauchery, and so was entirely unprepared for being bitten again in the neck. He yelped, coming so hard that he saw stars, and moaned and scrabbled weakly for purchase as Ted sucked determinedly. By the time his aching neck was finally released, the area felt like it was on fire, and he felt about as limp as could be. Ted shivered next to him, breathing harshly, and for an awful moment Neville was afraid that he was going to do it again, that that twitching grip would suddenly tighten, and – “You’re too tempting for your own good, Longbottom.” Neville stayed as still as could be as Ted practically flung himself off the bed, his voice hoarse with a hunger that sent thrills of terror through Neville’s still-weakened body.

The sound of heavy footsteps and the rustling of clothes made Neville look up, desiring to assess if it was quite safe to get up, but Ted’s cold eyes pinned him with a hard, warning look. “If you love your mortal life, stay still,” he said firmly, eyes flicking hungrily to Neville’s neck. “This is hard enough without your pretty arse nanceing about the place, all right?”

Neville forced himself to close his eyes, knowing that he’d be better able to keep as still as was probably needed. He kept them closed despite the soft, almost imperceptible breathing he heard drawing closer.

“Unless you _don’t_ love your mortal life, Neville,” Ted said softly, a horribly strong, sweet note present in his voice. “Do you?” Neville desperately fought the urge to swallow convulsively, knowing it’d only direct the vampire’s attention to his probably still-bleeding neck. God, what was he supposed to _answer_ to something like that?

Ted cleared his throat. “Don’t answer that.” And the moment was suddenly over – Neville could hear him moving away, could hear the heavy sound of his boots and the sound of the door opening. “We leave in fifteen minutes, Longbottom. Probably isn’t very safe here anymore for me, let alone for you – meet me in the alley next door, understand?” The door closed, sounding hopelessly normal, and Neville tried not to cry with fear as he remembered just how silent vampires could be if they really wanted to, tried not to feel as if Ted was still there, watching, waiting –

He opened his eyes by main force, and could have hugged and blessed Lucius Malfoy with all his heart just to see that his partner – or, more realistically, captor, was no longer there.

 

*    *    *

 

The dangerous hunger in Ted’s eyes seeming quite absent now, Neville felt only a little afraid when he was pulled close and kissed thoroughly in the empty alley just after stumbling in. He struggled at first, but gradually melted foolishly into those steely arms as Ted’s unbearably clever tongue plundered his mouth again and again. By the time Ted let him go, Neville was shaking.

It scared the fuck out of him. It only ever seemed to take a moment for Ted to get Neville hard and needy enough to stare blankly at his pale mouth and almost forget that the man he so lusted after had nearly turned him into a vampire fifteen minutes ago, and that worried him horribly. Neville stared into slightly hooded blue eyes as he was drawn into another fiery kiss, and hoped against hope that he would come out of this situation okay.

Somehow contriving to back away a bit from the second kiss seemed to clear his head a bit. For a moment, Neville wondered wildly if Ted was offended as cool eyes surveyed him. But then – “Come on,” Ted whispered, reaching up to run a bold finger across the bottom of Neville’s lip, his manner at once gently urging and faintly commanding. Relief surged through Neville as the vampire turned away smoothly, but it didn’t last long. It couldn’t, not with his neck throbbing insistently and reminding him sharply of what might have happened to him this morning, if Ted hadn’t gotten a hold of himself, if Neville had made a wrong move, if, if…

 _Stop thinking – just move_. Gritting his teeth, Neville lurched after Ted, trying to blank his mind and just – just move, as he’d learnt to do in difficult situations. Neville stumbled along behind Ted as he strode out of the alley with that swift, easy stride vampires were so easily able to call up at will. Taking deep breaths, Neville tried to master his fear, tried not to flinch each time Ted turned round to check on him or slowed down for no discernable reason. It didn’t help that most of the time, it was so Ted could ogle his crotch or stroke his arms in a dizzyingly inappropriate manner, and certainly didn’t help that Ted’s eyes seemed permanently fixed on the part of his neck where they both knew his carefully concealed injury lay.

Soon enough, they reached a Common Apparition Point fairly nearby – one Neville frequented fairly often, that was housed in the dingier part of town – and, after clearing the patchy ‘security’ at the doors of the decrepit former hotel, waited in line to use the boosting platform. Ted hovered distinctly, and, after seeing the narrowed look on his face, Neville knew to shake his head and pleasantly reply that they would be Dual-Apparating together to the Apparition Point near the ferry station to the question of the overly solicitous cashier’s query. When she inquired as to whether they’d like to buy tickets to Calais right then, Ted took over, flashing a disturbingly normal smile in her direction and producing the money from goodness knew where.

As Ted charmingly inquired about how things were at the station and if she had any news from Calais, Neville found himself fighting salacious thoughts of where exactly Ted might have concealed those Galleons. After finding himself staring at Ted’s arse, outlined as it was by the draping of his cloak, Neville gave up trying to listen to the conversation, and occupied himself with scrutinising people making use of the platform nearby. One or two of them gave him appraising looks as they walked by – possibly vampires – but most just looked hurried, frightened and rather furtive, and would look no one in the eye, clearly itching to leave the area. Looking behind them on a whim at the long line of queuing people, Neville began to try to pick out the number of vampires by the way they were looking at a certain hotly arguing pair of rather obvious young lovers over near a large, grimy window.

The sheer amount he spotted raised gooseflesh on Neville’s arms as Ted began to steer him away. Good god, but Harry had been right to bully him into stopping here – it was starting to look like most of the vampiric community here was crossing over to Calais. For what, Neville didn’t know, but he had a very strong feeling that it would be part and parcel of the fallout of the disastrous Wizengamot convene.

Then Ted, having guided him onto the faintly humming platform, slid his arm tightly about him, and suddenly Neville could think of nothing but the fact that those hands were squeezing gently at his buttocks. Ted’s fingers bit into him as he chanted, repeating the password that the cashier had probably given him, and suddenly that familiar crushing feeling hit Neville again, presaging their Apparation.

Only it was a hundred times worse. Ted’s fingers seemed to feel like a vise, and the pain in Neville’s faintly throbbing neck became agonising. If Neville could have screamed, he would have been hoarse in minutes. As it was, the crushing feeling faded abruptly, leaving his skin tingling horribly, accentuating the pain in his neck, and Neville’s legs gave way as they arrived at the Apparation Point. Ted caught him easily, practically dragging him off the platform as he struggled for breath.

“ _You_ ,” Neville coughed, because it was the only thing he felt able to say. Right now, he didn’t know if his lips could even form the word ‘bastard’ –

“Would you have Apparated with me if I told you what it was like?” Ted snapped, the irritatingly comforting solidity of his arms a direct contrast to the contempt in his voice. “It only does that the first time, as far as I know.” Neville glared up at him, wishing very hard that he had the strength to prick open his neck with even a miniature stake, and Ted gave him a cold smile. “What – how long do you think I’ve been a vampire? Certainly not long to own anyone –”

“You do _not_ ,” Neville managed to get out, as Ted heaved him past the slightly concerned-looking cashier with a polite, nauseatingly normal smile. “You bit me,” Neville tried again, coughing, closing his eyes against the pain, “but that doesn’t – that doesn’t –”

“Shut up,” was the cool answer, and Neville finally did. It hurt to talk, anyway.

Ted lugged him over to an empty bench somewhere out on the street and lowered him into it slowly. Almost gently. Neville kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see what the manipulative bastard wanted _this_ time, and it was well that he had, because Ted’s hands were suddenly stroking at his neck again with familiar intent and peeling off the protective, hastily constructed bandage. Before Neville could even summon the horror that something was going to happen again, a warm mouth was sucking gently at the wound in his neck, a slightly warmer tongue dragging back and forth against the throbbing flesh. Neville stifled a groan, feeling humiliated – even now, even while he was weak and dizzy from that god-awful Apparation, his cock was somehow taking orders from a vampire’s tongue. It made him feel even worse that the pain in his neck was diminishing, lick for lick, and that by the time Ted began kissing gently at his wound instead of licking it, it was hardly hurting any more.

“Better?” Ted breathed, against his neck, and Neville couldn’t hold back his moan. Ted chuckled, bringing up fingers to stroke his cheek. “You make the prettiest sounds, Neville. We can’t stay here, though.” And in an instant, Neville was being hauled to his feet and guided in the direction of the station, which was nearby.


	3. Chapter 3

** Part III **

The ferry was about as noisy and taxing as it usually was, only substantially more, with Ted distracting Neville the entire time. Neville, after professing the need to stretch his legs, quickly came to a realisation: almost everyone huddled nearby in the discreetly wizarding section of ferry was a vampire or, like himself (Neville grimaced), travelling with one. They all nodded politely and one or two even made strained conversation, their eyes fixed eerily on the concealed wound on his neck, but Neville knew immediately that he was essentially on hostile territory. Ted took possession of his arm as soon as he got back, scowling over the back of his seat at the slightly weary-looking blonde that had even given him a slightly toothy smile as she played absently with a bracelet on her arm.

“You can look around if you like, Neville,” Ted said, breaking into Neville’s subdued, morose thoughts, “but I don’t want you prostituting yourself in front of everyone here, understand?”

“Prostituting myself?” Neville hissed, reddening. Good _god_ , but he’d had enough of this, had enough of –

“Bending over to pick up her purse,” Ted said angrily, “Stroking your neck as if she’d have a chance to –”

“Did getting turned make you insane, Nott?” Neville asked coldly, gritting his teeth. “Look, just because you bit me while I was tied up –”

Ted’s eyes narrowed. “I had consent, if you must know –”

“What? The fact that I was begging you _not_ to bite me, or the fact that I was ready to give up my fucking friend so you’d leave me alone?” Neville hissed back, his voice getting louder and louder. “Christ. Your fucking thought process alone gives vampires a bad name.”

But instead of fixing him with a cold stare and trying to refute his (quite salient, thank you) points, Ted gave him a surprised look. Then smiled. “You know the worst thing about war? You miss a lot of change.” Neville’s mouth fell open. “I’m glad you grew up, Longbottom – this would’ve been very trying if you hadn’t.”

A long moment passed, in which Ted stared at Neville and Neville tried not to blush. Snorting, the vampire finally settled back into his seat and closed his eyes.

 _He_ , Neville thought, bewilderedly, to himself, _is truly insane_.

 

*    *    *

 

Their arrival in Calais was something Neville had gone over and over and over and _over_ in his mind about – how not to unnecessarily upset Ted, how to still firmly put him in his place, how to demand that Neville and his neck were to be treated with respect and not ravished and bitten and seduced at every turn. Things like that, generally, had fouled up Neville’s thought processes in the last half hour or so of their journey, and had made him glare at Ted every so often and feel increasingly pissed off when his usually quite effective glare (he’d cut Snape down once with it. _Snape_ Snape, yeah. Did he remember it? Every second – he’d probably be telling it to his grandchildren. Perhaps when the greying bastard was actually dead) was only acknowledged with a smile. And not a sort of tight, smirking, _you’re angry at me and don’t I know it_ sort of smile, oh no.

A _smile_ smile. As if everything was going exactly the way Ted wanted it, and he was more than happy to sit and bask in Neville’s (really quite effective) glare.

The consequence of all that, of course, was that by the time Neville and Ted had been ushered out onto the streets of Calais (and, for Neville pinched on the bum at least once or twice, by two supposedly innocent-looking female vampires), Neville was livid. Not with a capital L, because that was livid for lovers. He wasn’t Ted’s lover, was he? He was Ted’s bloody _victim_.

“We,” Neville said nastily, as soon as they were alone and seemingly approaching one of the nasty little wizarding tour booth thingies that always seemed to be everywhere in Calais, “are _not_ renting a hotel room, understand?”

Ted gave him a perplexed look. “No, we’re not.” Neville blinked, but dismissed the idea that Ted might actually be agreeing with him. He wouldn’t put it past the bastard to wrong-foot him, convince him that he was ordering train tickets to somewhere, and then usher him into a hotel for a drink “…while we wait”. “What’s the game on Draco these days, anyway?”

Neville scowled; diversionary tactics, if he ever saw them, but it was a valid question, and in the interests of fair and even not-so-fair argument, it was always important to answer those. “Last time I saw him, he was rhapsodising about this hairdressing job in Lille. _Muggle_ hairdressing.” Ted’s eyebrows seemed to raise of their own accord as he elbowed them rudely through the line for the tour booth thingy. “I know – completely useless, eh? But if we go, we might find someone who knew where he was headed.” Ted, now conversing in rapid, irritatingly sexy French with the keeper of the booth, simply gave him an absent nod as he began to fiddle in his pockets and fire off rapid-fire numbers (at least, Neville thought they were. Mandatory French lessons had been a long, long time ago, thankfully) and gesticulate wildly and give Neville despairing glances.

It was all over in a surprisingly short time, what with the emotion involved. Ted brandished the tickets with an unnecessary flourish, his cool fingers (Neville tried hard not to remember the feel of them) displaying interestingly healthy colour as he pointed to all sorts of relevant little details about when it left and so on.

The train, that was. Neville stopped his eyes looking at fingers, and suddenly heard the sound of “…leaves in about fifteen minutes, so we’ll have to Apparate. Up to it?”

Neville’s eyes widened. “After what you just put me through?” Ted sighed, and his face contorted a bit, as if he was trying to look understanding. “I’m not going to any kind of room with you – not if it were the last available affordable housing space in the right part of London - !”

“Neville,” Ted said, a little too gently, “I’m not asking you to Apparate to a hotel.” Neville gritted his teeth, seized at one of the tickets (obviously overnight, or at least for the next morning) to prove his point, and suddenly found that they were not overnight at all, and certainly not next morning.

He handed them back, his teeth hurting from how hard he was gritting them. _This_ morning, actually, might be more appropriate. Ted gave him a slow smile, then tugged him into a dark-ish alley, looking disturbingly like he wanted to kiss him. While Neville was being kissed, he tried not to gag.

Well, not to swoon, really. As much as he hated Ted right now, he had such an interesting mouth, and such technique…

 

*     *     *

 

“Neville?” Wide grey eyes stared at him, touchingly incredulous. “Longbottom – is that you?” Neville nodded slowly, feeling very, very wrong-footed. Today seemed to actively be conspiring against him, for crying out loud.

First of all, there had been Apparating about the place with Ted, which hurt like a Crucio topped with some judicious blood-letting where the nerves hurt the most, all marinated in that irritating crushing sensation one got with Apparation with normal people.

Then, of course, there had been the whole ‘prostitution’ thing, as well as the irritating way Ted had seemed to take no notice of the fact that Neville had been highly ticked off about the whole seduction thing, despite how well it was working out for his cock.

Then Ted had had the gall to actually be sensible, and make Neville look like some sort of paranoid idiot made unfit and unjustifiably paranoid by the War. “Paranoid of your own shadow”, Ted had been muttering all during the train trip to Lille. Neville knew that his reaction to the tickets for the train might have been a bit much, but still –

“Good god, you’re actually fit,” Draco said, looking him up and down with that smirk Neville remembered so well. And which, from Ted’s narrowed eyes, he remembered just as well. “Turn around and let me look at you – and do come in, Equally Fit Friend of Neville’s…”

Ted gave a chilly smile and sauntered right in. Neville closed the door after him, trying to nod and smile at Draco’s inane chatter as he poked despairingly at Neville’s slightly shaggy cut and smiled up and down Ted’s long hair as customers and stylists stared at them both.

It was a while before Draco finally twigged. Neville sat through joke after joke of school days and nefarious activities and Lumbering Longbottom before that moment arrived, and nodded desperately around even more references to how Ted looked ‘so familiar’ and how, in particular, his arms, once bared, looked even more ‘familiar’.

By twig time, Neville was just ready for it to be over, ready for him and Ted to drag Draco off and question him tersely about his dad and everything, but not ready for this, in particular. This meaning that frighteningly hard look in Ted’s eyes as Draco gasped and tried to hide his stammer and his sneaky look in the direction of Neville’s throat. Of all the times Neville had been particularly ashamed of being with Draco, this was one of them. For goodness’ sake, if a supposedly devious bloke couldn’t manage a contrite face or even a respectfully curious, yet deeply compassionate manner under the right circumstances, what _was_ he good for?

“But, er, you weren’t kicked out of Hogwarts for va-vampirism,” Draco was whispering, now, after tugging them happily into his cramped storage room for a little chat. “Blaise said you were done for, er, lascivious and immoral –”

“Tell my new mate _everything_ , why don’t you,” Ted spat, eyes hard. And cold. Neville sighed. Did he mention hard? “Including what I said just before I left. You remember that, don’t you Draco? Surely you remember that, if you can remember the exact fucking taper of my arms –”

“But Blaise said you were joking,” Draco said, in a very small voice. “I thought that was true, really –”

Ted’s eyes widened. “I was on the edge of savaging myself with a knife! A knife, I tell you!”

“Well, when someone you know does it at least once a term, you kind of tend to disbelieve it after –”

“Look, you two,” Neville cut in sharply, giving Draco a repressive glare before he dug himself any deeper into the seething hole that was possibly somewhere in the vicinity of Ted’s heart (if he had one), “this isn’t going to solve anything, all right?”

“Oh, I’ll solve him –”

“Ted, please,” Neville said earnestly, trying not to feel nervous that he’d insinuated himself between Draco and the advancing Ted on purpose, which looked increasingly bad an idea the closer Ted got, “we need his info, remember?”

“I don’t suppose you know that there are three easy blood rituals I can use to do that after I’ve drunk him dry?”

Neville winced. “It’s just not quite the solution I’m –”

“Oh thanks for nothing, Neville!” Draco had now backed into a corner, and though his wand was in his hand already, it was quivering just a little as Ted slipped easily around a panicky Neville, a mostly murderous look on his face.

“I suppose you never really noticed anyone but yourself,” Ted was saying, coldly, fangs extending. “And you better believe I’ll enjoy every fucking _drop_ of drinking your aristocratic little arse dry – I’ve had Neville, wouldn’t you know, and his is just as red as anyone else’s –”

“You’ve had _Neville?_ ” Draco demanded, and suddenly Neville, now paused in trying to insinuate himself between his molester and his ex-lover, could see the whole thing going downhill a lot faster than he’d thought. “What do you mean –”

“I mean that I’ve fucked him,” Ted sneered, “and rather more than once –”

“Neville, you _idiot_ – I deliver you from Snape, of all people, and you run into Theo’s arms? Fucking pathetic –”

“Excuse me?” Neville shivered, Ted’s tone was that cold. “Do you mean to say –”

“Oh fuck yes – and you better believed that he fucked me through the fucking mattress, you understand? Longbottom’s far from pure, I can personally assure you that –”

Neville’s mind went, for a moment, absolutely blank, so terrifying was Ted’s roar. Then, a moment later, it went truly blank, as something had hit him so hard in the head that he could see stars, and…very pretty…

 

*    *    *

 

Neville woke to a nastily throbbing head and the acute feeling that he was not alone. Sitting up despite the pain in his head, he found that his limbs felt slow and heavy, as if he’d been cursed with some sort of severe energy-depriving spell or something –

The door opened, to reveal a rather frosty-looking Ted. “Awake, are you?” Neville nodded slowly in reply as Ted swept in, his face tight with myriad emotions, one of them Neville was sure was fury.

The question, he decided, watching Ted’s almost nervous movements as he crossed over to the couch Neville was reclining on, was who the fury was for. The question was answered almost immediately as Ted seized his hand and began to sniff closely at his wrist, long, deep sniffs that sent shivers up and down Neville’s arms and made him dimly remember that odd little class about vampires being able to tell how healthy someone was. Ted seemed to be satisfied, anyway – after a few deep sniffs, he dropped Neville’s wrist like a hot poker and began to look menacing in the way that usually led to Serious Conversations.

Neville caught his breath. This one would be serious indeed –

“I was hoping you would accept an apology.”

Neville blinked. _Did he just say…?_ But, from Ted’s impassive, yet serious countenance, he felt he had. But – Neville wanted to question it. Hadn’t it taken the better part of his relationship with Severus to get the man to respect his feelings outwardly? And hadn’t it been the straw that broke the already fragile camel’s back with him and Draco? And yet, Ted, Slytherin to the core –

“If you don’t want one, now would be a good time to speak up, Longbottom,” Ted said, the cruelty in his voice offset by the slight flash of concern in his cool eyes. Neville drew himself up, resolving firmly to enjoy this, at least a little bit.

After all, how many times did one get someone as regal as Ted willing to abase themselves for something Neville couldn’t remember clearly? Neville pursed his lips to hide a smirk, and snuggled back a bit into the comforting cushions of the sofa. “I’d like it long and hard, please,” he said, then suddenly blushed, realising what exactly might be inferred from that statement. “Something ornate, I mean.”

“I know what you mean, Neville,” Ted said, the expression on his face leaning a little away from serious now. He cleared his throat, and Neville tried not to jump. “I sincerely apologise for losing my temper at an inopportune moment, and indirectly causing you harm –”

“Wait a minute – indirectly?” Neville asked, butting in. “Does that mean –”

Ted’s lips twitched, a little maliciously, but his answer was colourless. “Yes. Draco hit you with something strong, so.” Ted leant forward a little, subtly pushing for an answer. “Does that mean you forgive me?”

“Not until you ask me the awkward questions you’ve been dying to,” Neville said, voice cracking as he tried to tease, his mouth going dry as he looked at the surprise in Ted’s eyes and remembered what real teasing meant, from this – this person.

“Gladly,” Ted replied, and silence ensued for a minute as Neville tried to suppress the question of whether Ted was joking or not, and promptly failed.

“Look, me and Draco –”

“Yes?” Ted said, impatiently. “You and Draco…what?” Neville glowered at him. “As your mate –”

“Don’t play that card,” Neville insisted, cutting him off. “I did _not_ consent.” Ted sniffed and looked away. “And anything serious between me and Draco ended five bloody years ago, all right? We sort of had it off this summer, but that doesn’t – er – count – and anyway I was surprised that we muddled along properly for as long as a couple of months back then, to be honest.” Ted looked irritatingly approving, causing Neville to go on – it couldn’t be right that he thought it was as simple as that, certainly not – “It was – well – it started after I’d just finally split with Severus –”

“With _Severus_?” Ted’s tone was mild on the surface, but the way he lingered over that name…Neville sighed. Naturally jealous lo- jealous _people_ could be a real pain in the arse sometimes. Wondering why on earth he seemed to attract them like flies, Neville ran the facts through his mind, trying to get them in the right sort of order.

“Erm – we were together, um, me and Snape, for about three or four years, before I got into the whole, er, vampire adjudication scene. He didn’t like that, so it was easy to part ways and all that, even before I got into things with Draco.” There. Non-threatening, vague about the dates (he remembered Draco and others resenting how he remembered the exact date and month he’d had his final explosive fight with Severus, never mind that he tried telling them that it had been on his birthday, and had been the third memorable time someone who was clearly a vampire had seemed to have been freakishly into him), and all spun to reflect the fact that he’d been on the point of moving on. Perfect.

“Don’t give me that, not when you still call him ‘Severus’ in that worshipful tone,” Ted said scornfully, making Neville deflate significantly. “Look, all I want to know’s that you’re not hung up on his skinny old arse, all right? Or on Draco’s skinny young arse. Adjusting to your new mate would be harder then, wouldn’t it?” A slightly scary smile was once again on Ted’s now depressingly happy face, and Neville smiled nervously back, privately thinking he’d just have to shelve the issue for now.

Now, once he was back in good old England, and could serve the issue before the High Vampire Council –

Somewhere beyond the room around him, a doorbell rang tackily loud, almost shrill, piercing through the slightly open door even as footsteps (probably Draco’s) hurried to answer the door. And then, strangely, Draco’s slightly nervous laughter carried over – the kind that came out when he was trying to hide something and not quite sure as to how, which implied that –

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Draco, just let me see…” Someone tall and dark shoved open the door, obviously halfway through the process of shedding their clothes, and Draco’s laughter, close behind them, faltered.

Neville didn’t even bother trying a smile, he was so surprised. The person standing shocked before him and the hovering Ted was…Angelina Johnson?

Whose open-mouthed moment, predictably, didn’t last long. Not that Neville blamed her, after a sneaky look at Ted – he just gave off this air… “Draco.” Neville blinked, trying suddenly not to smile – he’d hung about Harry’s crew long enough that he’d witnessed Angelina’s Boss Tone coming into play. “Draco. _Draco_.”

Draco squeezed into the room beside her – around her, Neville could see now – and cracked a nervous smile. “Angel, I can explain.” Neville was now really hard pressed to hold back laughter. Draco? With Angelina? With The Nickname?

“Then explain.” Angelina looked drawn now, crossing her arms over what Neville felt increasingly surprised to see was a rather bigger belly than he’d ever seen on her before. “Now, Draco.”

“See, Neville walked into the salon this morning, and –”

“Cut,” Angelina sighed exasperatedly, “to the chase.”

“ – and I Stunned him. Instead of Ted.” Draco’s smile was faltering. And well that it was – Angelina looked positively livid, and had whipped out her wand before Neville could say so much as an embarrassed ‘Hi’ in corroboration –

“What kind of fucking story _is_ that, Draco?” she began, her voice level rising slowly but surely. Draco opened his mouth to explain, but was immediately cut off. “You know, I don’t even – oh, for Merlin’s sake, Neville _Longbottom_ walks in with some vampire you don’t know behind him, and you stun Neville? For fuck’s sake, that doesn’t even make sense –”

“It would bloody make more sense if you actually let me finish, you know –”

“We’ll just be leaving, then,” Ted cut in, sending a shock of unwelcome surprise through Neville’s lounging body. He rose easily, tugging Neville to his unwilling feet and starting to shepherd him around the now-arguing couple.

“Too right you will,” Angelina said, ignoring some point from a flushing Draco, starting to breathe a little fast. Typically, as things usually were with Draco, her lack of attention to his rising voice didn’t last long. “Draco, I am carrying _our baby_. I do not have _time_ to deal with situations –”

But now Draco was glaring in Neville and Ted’s direction as Ted dragged Neville towards what he assumed was the door to Draco’s house. “So you’re just leaving, then? No fucking thank-you, Ted, not even to an old mate?”

“When that ‘old mate’ _stupefies_ my fucking boyfriend into fucking pulp, fuck no. Be seeing you, Miss Johnson.” And Ted’s arm was tight around Neville’s waist in a vise of grim determination, forcing him out the door and overriding every feeble struggle Neville could bother to call up, all the way until they’d lurched into the nearby stairwell.

 _So he lives in an apartment_ , Neville thought briefly, a little bitterly. _Draco Malfoy – the Man Above Apartments. Merlin_ –

Having one’s train of thought cut off by painful, sudden Dual Apparation was certainly never pleasant, but for that particular thought train, Neville actually had to stifle an automatic thank-you to the now-scowling Ted, who had quite obviously deposited them near the train station they’d come down into Lille from. Ted didn’t seem to notice Neville’s sudden lack of protest as they rushed to board the next train to Calais. Ted didn’t seem to notice much of anything at all on the whole train ride, in fact – staring blankly out of the windows and fixing Neville with hard looks when he tried to excuse himself to go to the loo was all that he seemed inclined to do.

Happily, his possessive behaviour didn’t extend to actually following Neville to the loo for either possessive or sexual reasons, which meant Neville had just enough time to send off an emergency Patronus Harry’s way. As uncomfortable as Neville found it pissing with a huge silvery horse fidgeting oddly in the toilet with him and trying vainly not to stick the odd leg through the walls on his command, it was worth the long message and extra-speedy flight he poured into the spell, hoping to Merlin and God that Harry would have the sense to get someone to meet Neville at the ferry station in Dover.

It was also worth the few minutes Neville spent with just his spent cock in his hand, thinking about the strange mess his life had become, and about the sole agent responsible for it all. Ted was frightening and yet strangely protective, and perhaps the most sexually aggressive person he’d ever been with in some willing capacity. Blushing, Neville sighed – oh, he knew by now that some of it was willing, however little he conceded that amount might be. But –

“Mesdames et Monseiurs, il y a quinze minutes au Calais…”

“Fuck.” Neville gulped, straightening out of his uncomfortable position against one obstructed wall. He hated this the most – he never seemed to have time to make a decision about Ted, for or against, whatever. He’d had time, oh, plenty of time with Severus. He’d even had time with Draco, as mercurial as he’d tended to be. He’d had time with almost everyone, even down to Su Li, when she’d been voluntarily turned about two years ago (and that had been a tentative, if wistful no). But with Ted?

Nope. Neville opened the door a little harder than it deserved, and didn’t bother to say more than the necessary, useless, “Excusez-moi,” to the highly impatient man waiting outside.

No time, indeed. It was really starting to rankle.

 

*    *    *

 

Neville’s breath was starting to come short. He wasn’t sure why he was doing this – well, apart from the fierce expression in Ted’s eyes that told him it might be a nice, easy way to smooth things between them for now – and frankly wondered why on earth he’d seen to suggest this in the first place. Didn’t he get to walk away with something to lean on from this awful, awful situation? Some general sense of pride, perhaps?

As it turned out, no.

Also, as it turned out, Ted tended rather to the hairy side down here, and Neville was finding increasing horror in the fact that it was turning him on. He was currently on his knees in the slightly whiffy cheap hotel room Ted had drummed up practically on setting foot once more in Calais, outwardly declaiming a need to ‘put out feelers among the vampires he knew here’ while his hard blue eyes expressed a sore need to put out a quite different sort of feeler, preferably very close to Neville’s arse.

Only Neville was a little sore from last night – as long ago as it seemed, it felt rather recent to his poor arse – and had foolishly eyed the material covering Ted’s hardening cock and somehow managed to voice the idea of him going down on Ted instead. He’d had some kind of weird notion that Ted would say no to anything but penetration given the somewhat cold, possibly Draco-inspired look that was still in his expression, and had been wrong.

Very wrong. Neville gulped a little, trying not to consciously splay out his fingers on slightly bony curves of Ted’s half-bared hips, trying not to lick his lips or audibly sniff at the heady, sweaty smell of him. Failing.

Oh, failing.

“Don’t be stingy with my balls,” Ted was saying, lowly, “You can be – a little rough, with them.”

Neville murmured, a general noise of assent, and Ted sighed, his cock, now glistening slightly at the tip, twitching in time to his slow sigh. “Just get on with it, all right?” Another heavy twitch occurred, and Neville was off into action, brushing here and there, trying not to press down or really massage in any way as his left hand drifted slowly into service.

Ted let out a long sigh, his head falling slowly back to the scratchy wallpaper on the wall behind him – behind them. “Fucking get on with it,” he half-ordered, half-sighed. Neville took it as a sign, not even trying to tell himself that he wasn’t enjoying it, wasn’t secretly relishing how much Ted was twitching under his hand and mouth, how much Ted groaned as he began to slide his mouth up and down, as slow as he could make it. Saliva was staining Neville’s cheek, saliva that Ted seemed to like having rubbed into his sensitive skin. When Neville’s left hand began to finally reach down and tug, Ted’s hips wriggled off the wall, just a bit, and it wasn’t very long before Neville was speeding up, sliding up and down, squeezing tightly because Ted was almost whining in pleasure, and good god that was hot and bitter, and was scary, as it was making Neville hard.

Neville groaned, it was so humiliatingly typical, and Ted writhed manfully, nearly pushing his cock down Neville’s throat in his steely fervour. Neville somehow shoved him away, coughing. Ted’s eyes, which Neville hadn’t noticed closing, blinked open slowly as he slumped back, looking unusually guilty. Neville rose shakily onto his knees, trying not to cough any more, and Ted helped him up a little, tugging him firmly forward so he half-fell into his arms. His hands were strangely comforting, for so-called hands of steel.

“I’m going out in a minute,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. Neville tried to stay steady, ignoring the stupid, mindless part of his brain that was suggesting he wriggle mindlessly into Ted’s warmth until Ted put a hand or hip to good use – “I expect you’ll want to do the same thing – get notion of the feeling in the vampire community around here, whatever your lot calls it.” His mouth moved achingly closer to Neville’s ear, “Thirty minutes, tops – it’s not safe after five, understand? Our Dover ferry leaves six thirty sharp.” Neville nodded, still strangely caught up in the headiness ( _oh god_ ) of what he’d just been doing, been tasting –

The kiss made his head spin, which wasn’t surprising. His throat and neck felt generally sore, and his body seemed to be starting to realise pitiful crackers on trains and hasty drinks of water did not food make, and somehow it produced the strange but memorable feeling of wanting to taste every inch of Ted – no, a person’s mouth. Ted bit his lip at the end. Neville tried to catch his breath.

All in all, same old things, same old people. Only a little more (a lot more) good than Neville liked to admit. But that was okay, that had to be okay – it was just a few more hours in Calais and maybe Dover (yes, yes Dover) with Ted, and then Harry would sort things out; Severus would make Ted understand that this mate-for-everlasting-life thing was a myth, and perhaps force him to let it go if necessary, and Neville would go back to frequenting seedy bars and making eyes at interestingly unsavoury people.

That wasn’t denial. That was just how it was going to be.

 

*    *    *

 

“Watch where you’re going, _wizard_ ,” someone muttered threateningly. Neville picked himself out of the stall he’d just been knocked into, apologising all the way, not even bothering, this time, to look around for the person who had engineered his fall. He was on his way out, anyway, that counted for something –

“I don’t want your money, young man,” the hostile proprietor said, again and again, until Neville nodded peaceably and tried to go on his way. Tried being the operative word, as people (vampires) shoved and stumbled and gave fake mumbles of ‘Je m’excuse’ when he turned around and tried to see what was going on.

He hadn’t been ten minutes in this place, and already he could sense the tension. And none of it sexual, like he was used to, oh no – the older-looking vampires sneered condescendingly at him when he asked for directions, and the younger ones either ignored him or gave him hostile stares and flat directions to the small souvenir shop he’d been looking for in the first place. Ted had been more than right when saying wizarding Calais wouldn’t be safe after five – before five was starting to look heavily debatable for Neville, even for someone as innocent-looking as he was.

It was, frankly, time to get out. Gran would understand if he couldn’t pick up some small token to show off his time here, Neville would have put money on it –

Something crashed nearby, breaking into the wall just to his left. “Oi!” Neville ducked, but soon recognised it was the wrong move to make. In minutes, he was surrounded by hostile attackers, all spouting insults in various languages and looking fairly resistant to adjudicating.

“Look, I didn’t _say_ anything,” Neville said, for the fifth time, shrunken crossbow already in one hand, shrunken stakes in the others. “Look, get back, I’m not consenting, I can’t –”

But it made no difference. “Putain!” One person yelled, their voice shrilled. “Wizard whore!” Came from someone else.

“I know the law, you bastards – calm, or I’ll arm myself –”

“Get him!”

Neville didn’t waste a moment. “ _Engorgio_ ,” he whispered, and suddenly everyone was edging away as he calmly loaded the crossbow, backing carefully to the wall on his left so that no one could weave behind him.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t quite counted on someone being there in the first place. Shrieks of rage erupted as Neville fired in panic, his arm muscles screaming in agony as he tried to fight out of the inhuman grip now on him. The bastard holding him was screaming instructions to his other attackers, and only tightened his arms when Neville tried to fire off some kind of fucking spell, only to have his wand wrenched away and a sharpened stake thrust painfully into his grasping hands.

The hideously familiar hooking feeling seemed to blank out his thought processes immediately after that, and by the time Neville managed to get his hands and knees after the jarring, nauseating pain, he was in yet another room. One with no chair, no less, but, after all, these things were unpredictable. Neville knew not to fight to sit up, occupying his panicky mind with the task of finding some kind of fucking exit to this –

_Well. Right, no exit._

Neville gulped. The process felt painful. His arms felt bruised beyond imagining, and his hands – well. His wand was gone, too. His crossbow too, even more unlucky, but at least he still had stakes in his pockets. And he’d have them, too, if no one searched him, which was unlikely but still pleasant to hope for.

Nevile shook his head, slowly. _Pleasant, indeed_. He wanted to scream. Long, hard, and perhaps loud enough that someone, anyone, _Ted_ , would come, would help him.

Neville snorted. Likely, that was. Right now, his gut feeling told him that he was fucked, as fucked as he’d been last night. This morning. This afternoon.

This evening. Neville hung his head.

“Fuck.”


	4. Chapter 4

** Part IV **

Footsteps. Neville jerked to attention, cursing slightly for drifting into a doze.

Much good it did him. Five vampires. _Five_. And all of them old, experienced, laughing to themselves over something or other, discussing something in raucous French that occasionally erupted into the cursing that Neville knew and understood. Neville tried to stay still, to keep mum, but it was inevitable that they would notice, that they would sit up and laugh and glide over to examine him with cold hands and curious comments, occasionally laughing.

At him? At the way he couldn’t seem to stop shaking? Neville didn’t know. All he knew was his intense desire to be somewhere very distant from here, and now.

One of them turned him over and tore off his bandage with a swift, contemptuous flick of her powerful wrist, and began to poke and prod at his tender neck wound as he gulped in fear. The murmuring of the other vampires became more heated, as if they were arguing amongst themselves. Neville heard, or thought he heard Ted’s last name being said a few times, and hoped. Just hoped.

The door that wasn’t there burst open, and in strode… _oh, thank Merlin_ –

“Bonsoir,” Ted said, insolently, bowing shortly. Neville gulped, fighting not to look away. Was there some sort of bloody vampire school of insolence Ted had gone to? Would it _kill_ him to be more – “If you’re finished drooling over my mate, I’d like to have him back. Immediately.”

“Monsieur Ted,” one of the vampires exclaimed in mock-welcome. “’Ow pleasant to see you!”

“Maman, I thought we agreed that taking a mate early was my payment for the information I gave you,” Ted said steadily, voice cold, as if he hadn’t even heard the malicious undertone in what the male vampire nearest to him had just said. The female that had ripped off Neville’s bandage rose from her slightly stooped position nearby.

“And?” her English was surprisingly clear, but markedly different from Ted’s. Which Neville hoped was a sign that calling her ‘maman’ was an affectation that had nothing to do with actual parenthood – “I heard you would have a report for me in the next three days, but nothing that said you had taken a mate.”

Ted smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. “I had no idea he would be so…receptive to the notion. It was purely supposed to be for his direct links to the British Wizengamot, but…”

“Direct links?” The eagerness in Maman’s voice was awful to hear. “I thought you were exaggerating –”

“Ah, non – he fought with them. In the last war – you remember it? No? Well, no matter –”

Neville decided not to bite his lip against the waves of anger sweeping over him now. Wouldn’t do to bite it clear through, now –

“Très excellent, mon cher,” was the warm reply. The other vampires murmured compliments, a little grudgingly, and Ted’s smile became smug. Neville wished he could reach out and tear it off his stupid thin face.

Ah well. There was something far better, and far easier to do. “But Ted –”

“Silence!” the vampire that had been mocking Ted at the beginning strode over and kicked Neville hard, in the side, obviously venting some of his irritation at Ted’s veneration. Neville rolled away as determinedly as possible, ignoring the chuckles that caused – if only he could finish what he wanted to say, that vampire would be properly grateful to him –

“We all went to school together, that’s all,” Neville choked out, as loudly as he could. “Me and Potter were in the same dorm –”

“Him and Monsieur Potter?” Maman said, around her chuckles. “A little hard to see, but still, excellent foresight, Monsieur –”

“ – and me and Ted were in the same year,” Neville finished desperately, coughing as he didn’t manage to escape another kick, from the same source. The room stilled, and Ted’s smug expression faltered.

“Daphne died, remember, Ted?” Neville was on a roll now – he could tell the others were listening to him – “Saw you at her funeral and everything – so sad, wasn’t it? And all this time –”

“Shut up, Longbottom!”

“ – we shared an _apartment_ ,” Neville insisted, “and you didn’t ever think to tell me –”

“Is this true?” Maman’s tone was steely.

Neville kept going, around Ted’s sputter – “You could’ve told me, I wouldn’t have _minded_ , Ted –”

“Shut _up!_ ” Ted shouted, striding towards him with a murderous look on his face. The male vampire that had been kicking Neville around looked insufferably smug now, standing aside to allow access to Neville’s battered body as if it was some sort of favour –

“ – if you’d just told the truth.” Fear was fully involved in Ted’s expression now, fear in a way that made Neville guiltily happy that he’d bothered. Even if it meant being torn apart by Ted’s steely, practical hands, which were tugging him roughly off the floor and…

…leaving him easy access to the stakes in his pockets. Neville smiled, reached, wandlessly enlarged, and hey presto: pandemonium.

 

*    *    *

 

Several minutes later, Neville opened his sore eyes to the sight of...Ted? Swabbing at something –

“Get the fuck away from me!” Neville meant to say. What came out was a hideous gurgle that made Ted’s face crease with worry as he leaned closer, trying to get to something that _oh sweet Merlin that hurt so much_ –

“Stay calm,” Ted said, firmly. Not, perhaps, as firmly as he would have liked – his face showed more worry than firmness, which puzzled Neville – “Please, Neville. You’ll drown in your own blood if you keep this up –”

Neville moaned. Moan-gargled, really. Moargle, Luna would call it, probably. Neville’s eyelids began to droop against the creeping pain, as he rather felt it would be better to be out cold for whatever the fuck was going on –

“I said stay calm, not die on me!” Ted’s voice was harsh, strangely so. Neville tried to flex his fingers around the stake he knew should be in his palm, and found nothing except that his stake hand hurt more than anything else – “You idiot. Do you know how bloody long it took me to restrain you? To Apparate with you? I don’t even know if I left something _behind_ , you fucking idiot, so you stay still and keep bloody quiet and _stop flexing your fucking hand_ –”

Neville stopped, shock coursing through him in a way that made his head hurt. Er, more. He would’ve asked what on earth had happened; namely, why he was on his back in the motel room, possibly bleeding to death on the bed, while Ted only looked a little scratched –

“Next time, accept your fucking wand when I try to slip it to you, understand?” Ted went on, his tone growing bitter. “I can’t – I don’t understand you, Neville. You volunteer to fucking suck me off when I’m trying to tell you anything can wait, and the next moment, you can’t trust me to dissimulate in the midst of people that can kill the both of us like Potter swats _flies_ –”

Neville averted his eyes, feeling horribly confused, as well as a monumental idiot. Ted’s voice had gone ragged, and anyway –

“Did you send a message to Potter? Because if you didn’t, we’re fucking screwed – they’ll find us, I’m surprised no one’s turned up yet –”

A knock came at the door, causing Ted to cut off his distinctly panicky speech with a sharp gasp.

Neville rasped, trying to get some air in, hoping his magic would work even under these circumstances. His headache worsened suddenly even as the door seemed to shimmer just at the corner of his eye, and Ted gasped again.

“Oh god, it’s – Neville? St. Mungo’s can regrow anything now, can’t it?” Neville gurgled, mostly in pain. As gentle as Ted was in picking him up, it fucking _hurt_ – “If I – if we…” Ted sighed, softly. “I’m sorry, all right? I’m just – sorry.”

The pain of Apparation blacked Neville out, but not before he heard the door burst open.

 

*    *    *

 

It seemed like only minutes had passed since Neville had opened his eyes last, but that could easily be just the pain talking. Most of all, it was the noise around them, the distinctly British noise made by British voices around them that convinced Neville that he and the harshly breathing Ted were no longer in Calais.

But the voices around them were becoming more and more alarmed, and didn’t seem to be coming from some window or outside source, which meant –

“They were at my apartment.” Ted’s voice was low, strained. “I tried yours – it wouldn’t – I couldn’t –”

Neville tried to say something about his new wards, but it came out as a gurgle.

“I don’t – I can’t do St. Mungo’s. How it would look. I can’t – I can’t _think_ –”

Neville could, and promptly tried to look into Ted’s eyes, hoped it would work, cursed himself for not even thinking about it in the first place –

“Neville, don’t strain your – Hogsmeade? _Hogsmeade?_ Oh god, I should’ve thought –”

 _Just go_.

Ted gulped. “All right.” The pain clawed at every inch of Neville, but he fought it, fought to stay awake. He couldn’t pass out now, not when they were in such a fix, fuck no –

More gasps began to hit his ears now. Screams. Neville fleetingly hoped it wasn’t a Hogsmeade weekend, but focused on mentally shouting directions, forcing them into Ted’s mind through the thickly clustering fear and guilt that Neville was surprised but gratified to see, redundant or no. The musty smell of the interior of the Shrieking Shack felt like a godsend even through all the pain of the next Apparation – the one to the Hogsmeade safe house that was only possible from here with the right password –

Neville’s eyes felt glassy, strained, and barely took in the familiar lime green walls before his body gave up, despite Ted’s desperate voice, telling him to open something, to let him in. Which, as Neville thought dully, as he drifted off, made no sense at all.

 

*    *    *

 

“For Christ’s sake, Potter, you’ll wake him up!” Neville jolted into awareness, wincing in anticipation of more teeth-grinding pain and feeling an acute sense of gratitude that there was little to be had. Well, compared to what he’d felt the last time he’d been awake –

“Fat chance of that, with all your noisy clanging –”

“My _noisy clanging_ , as you put it, Potter, is what is keeping him alive!”

Neville blinked. What was Severus –

“Can the two of you shut up for one second?” And if Neville wasn’t mistaken, that was Ted, sounding strangely strained – “He’s moving –”

“And you’ll be moving too, you murdering bastard, if you don’t keep your filthy mouth shut –”

“Harry, don’t,” Neville tried to say. It came out as a mumble – _ooh, an improvement_ – but nevertheless sprung blessed silence upon the fledgling argument he’d just heard developing.

“Neville! Oh god, you’re awake –”

“And thank you, Potter, for stating the obvious. A sacred duty that would surely go undone were it not for –”

“You’re doing it again,” Ted said, his voice sounding a little less strained, and a little more nearby. Neville had barely caught a glimpse of his face, which was paler than normal, before Severus and Harry had erupted into protective mode once again.

“Nott, get your bony vampire arse back in that chair _immediately_ –”

“Are you really so anxious to donate your brain to the contents of my ingredient closet, Theodore?” To Neville’s surprise, Ted ignored them, but didn’t advance any more. Which meant Neville had to strain his neck to get a better look at his now quite battered-looking body. Joy all round, then.

“How do you feel, Neville?” Neville nodded and mumbled as well as he could in answer, feeling oddly glad to hear that smooth tone back in Ted’s voice again. “Right – if you need anything –”

“He’ll ask _me_ ,” Severus interrupted, rudely. “Kindly return to your seat, Theodore.” Ted scowled at Severus, but did as he asked. Neville returned to staring at the ceiling, and idly wondering who would start arguing next.

His snipe score was at around 5-3 to Severus (as usual) when it was interrupted by the sound of the door opening hastily, and someone entering the room equally hastily.

“Oh god, Harry –” That was Hermione – _oh no. That means it’s serious_ – “Malfoy just Floo’ed me –”

“What?” Harry’s voice was blank with anger, as tended to happen when Draco’s name was mentioned in conjunction with Hermione. He’d never told Neville why he was so touchy about Draco talking to his best friend, but after seeing for himself that Draco definitely went both ways, Neville could begin to guess why – “Is Draco starting that stupid meddling with the Floos again? Because –”

“Not Draco,” Hermione said, sounding awful. “Not – it was Lucius, Harry.” Her drawn face came into view. “Oh Merlin – is – is Neville awake now?”

“’M fine,” Neville managed to mutter, a little testily, as Severus and Harry dropped what they were doing (respectively, stirring the surprisingly sweet-smelling potion that Neville had sussed was going onto his bandages and drawing things in ash at the hearth in the corner) and went to Hermione. Everyone gave him dubious looks as Hermione held up a piece of parchment in her shaking hand. “Whassat?”

“I wrote it down,” Hermione was muttering. Neville became even more impatient as he saw Ted join them without anyone (read, Severus and Harry) doing more than give him a nasty look or two. “I – I never even knew –”

“’Ello? ’M here, lissening –”

“Shit. Neville and I – we saw him,” Ted suddenly said, his voice strangled. “God –”

Neville didn’t have anything to say, then. He just wasn’t sure there was anything he wanted to do at that moment, except scream.

 

*    *    *

 

A week had passed. Neville had had a few hours to himself to break things as best as he could, and after a day or two of Malfoy the Elder – _no, fuck that, Malfoy the_ Only – refusing to meet with anyone but Severus, he was finally in the chair next to Neville at a well-used room in the safe house in Hogsmeade, disdain written into every smooth line of his slightly greying form as Harry and Hermione took turns outlining the plan that would get the remnants of Draco’s fledgling family out of the hostile vampire group’s clutches.

“The real problem we have is who’ll go to the meeting in your stead, Lucius,” Hermione was saying, her voice holding steady all through the sentence, despite Lucius’ darkening countenance.

“Are you saying, Miss Granger, that I am not qualified to be present?”

“Mr. Malfoy, I neither said nor implied any such –”

“You actually wish to go?” Severus interrupted, directing a look of utmost surprise to his scowling former associate. “But the last time we talked, you said –”

“I have my reasons, Severus,” Lucius said, coldly. Severus opened his mouth to speak again, but was immediately cut off. “And no, that does not mean I have to share them with you –”

Severus bristled, making an angry, impatient sound. “Lucius, do be sensible – it could be a trap! And both Potter and I are far more used to dealing with –”

“If it is a question of danger,” Lucius said, drawing out the last word as if it was something dirty, “then I’ll be quite able to find someone far more appropriate to accompany me to the rendezvous than you _or_ your oh-so-visible Mr. Potter –”

“I can do it.” Neville said, trying not to grit his teeth as everyone’s gazes swung round to him. Ted’s grip tightened horribly, enough that Neville found himself forced to give him a hard look. “It makes sense, all right?” He turned, fixing his eyes on Lucius’ stiff form, ignoring the glare Ted gave him as he did so. “If anything goes wrong, I can handle the vampires and still get Angelina off safely –”

“Is he serious?” Lucius demanded, his haughty surprise suddenly unravelling into cold spite. “Am I here to be mocked?”

Severus shot Neville a familiar poisonous look of disdain. “Lucius, get a hold of yourself –”

“Forgive me,” Lucius spat, rising stiffly to his feet, “if I thought we were going to go about this like _adults_ –”

“Oh, get over yourself,” Neville found himself saying, his tone quiet but quite rude, all the same. “Who else do you think will help you? The AJS will recommend mediation to your face and spit on you behind your back. I talked to everyone I know – the consensus is that it’s about bloody time people like you got shat on.” He saw Lucius’ fists clench spasmodically, but went on. “In fact, I know several adjudicators who’d say that to your face –”

“The word is _slayers_ ,” Lucius hissed, in vicious reply, “and it’s about time someone was man enough to admit it!”

Neville rose abruptly, ignoring Ted’s insistent hand on his arm. “The word is _adjudicators_ , Lucius, especially for you. When the fuck have you ever had any sympathy for the vampiric community? It’s people like you that are our biggest threat, not crazed vampires and prejudiced bastards in the ICW – people that betray anything and anyone for their own personal gain, and never mind the little bloodbath that their actions started!”

Hermione sighed. “ _Neville_ –”

“Mr. Malfoy, you don’t seem to realise that we here are all Draco’s friends,” Ted suddenly said loudly, cutting off Hermione. “All we need from you is some hair and two days of silence of action. And, frankly, your absence at this meeting. I highly doubt that you think that is too much to ask to help secure your line free of charge – do you?” Lucius stared at Ted. Neville gave him a look, and finally decided to sit down. After all, Ted seemed to know exactly what he was about, especially with that mention of the Malfoy line.

When Lucius finally replied, it was with a slightly strange question. “Is that you, young Nott?”

Ted just continued to stare at him, face carefully blank. After a moment, Lucius nodded sharply, drawing his wand. Everyone around the small table in the room stiffened as he muttered an incantation, then relaxed as he plucked off a rather generous lock of pale hair.

As Lucius pressed it into Ted’s languidly outstretched hand, he leant forward, prolonging the grip. “If my grandchild does not survive…”

“I understand.” Lucius frowned, but let go. He then directed a piercing look Neville’s way, before Apparating with nary a sound but a slight pop.

“Grandchild, Theodore?” That was Severus, sounding perplexed and testy all at once, in his familiar way. For a moment, as Ted sat down again, Neville fought a smile. Draco wasn’t – hadn’t been the fatherly type, of course. Severus’ surprise was understandable.

“Angelina was pregnant when we saw her,” Ted muttered, a little unwillingly.

Hermione drew in a sharp breath. “So that’s why they stressed –”

“Yeah.” Ted’s hand found Neville’s under the table. “Yeah.”

Severus shot Neville a sharp look, then shook his head. “And I don’t suppose you’re still volunteering to go, Longbottom?”

Neville opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a hard look from Ted. “Only with backup,” Ted said, firmly. A seat away, Harry and Hermione nodded, looking vastly relieved, as if they’d thought Neville would insist on going alone.

Neville rolled his eyes. For goodness’ sake, he’d grown out of that! And anyway, there was Draco’s girlfriend involved, as well as his child, unborn or not. If that didn’t imply backup, what did?

 

*    *    *

 

Neville couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong. Of course, that could be easily explained. Lucius’ clothes pinched and squeezed in very odd places, and Neville hated the way they rustled about him, despite the venerated air he knew they gave him. He felt hideously out of place, especially in the Leaky Cauldron, and the way Tom was looking at him made him uncomfortable, though he’d been told what to expect.

Neville’s eyes swept the pub with an air of disgust that was not entirely feigned. He’d argued long and hard with everyone, and they’d voted overwhelmingly in favour of Lucius’ most expensive (and therefore, horribly restricting) clothes. _To show strength_ , Harry had said, enough times that Neville had wanted to punch the words back into his mouth. And of course, there had also been the argument about whether Ted was qualified to come along as backup, after how badly Neville had suffered in his company. Neville sneered at someone who stared a little too long at him as he clacked his cane impatiently on the grimy floor beside the bar, inwardly seething with irritation. Never mind the fact that the real reason Neville had come back from Calais too battered to speak was that Harry had sent him there in the first place.

 _When this is over_ , Neville thought fiercely, barely nodding to Tom as he finally glided past, _me and Harry are going to have a nice, long talk_ –

“Your table, Mr. Malfoy,” some nervous-looking waiter said, from his left, and Neville took care to nod impatiently, just the way Lucius might, as he approached the secluded booth – a new feature of the pub that had shot into popularity during and after the war, with all the private meetings everyone had been having up and down. The booth was a shabby approximation of the ones one saw in Muggle restaurants, cloaked in layered silencing and privacy charms, and cost more than it did to reserve a normal table, especially if temporary identity detection charms were requested.

For once, Neville felt glad he was meeting with vampires who made it their business to be contemptuous of obvious magical accoutrements. From the hasty spell he covertly sent off in the direction of the shadowy booth, there was barely anything on the booth but a couple of standard silencing charms. After that, Neville barely noticed the waiter scurrying off, so absorbed was he in noting who was present at the grimy, bare table in the largeish booth. Five hunched, hooded figures sat around it, one shivering steadily, and Neville guessed (hoped, oh hoped) that it was Angelina. He slipped his hand into his left pocket and flicked a small object out, trying to make the movement as languid and relaxed as possible. The vampires would think it was a watch, for now, and no matter how much he longed to unveil them, grab Angelina and take off, there was a much safer way this had to be done.

“Morning, gentlemen,” Neville said softly, sneeringly. One of the hooded figures straightened a little, fierce grace in the movement that gradually lengthened out and saw a strong arm sweeping back a chair as the vampire stood and stalked quietly around Lucius, hissing silently. “I’m sure there’s no need for the rest of you to remain hooded. I did come here on business, and I quite require seeing the faces of my partners. Don’t you?”

“You have always been arrogant,” one of the other hooded vampires said, slowly. Neville refused to shiver at the comment, keeping his posture as cold as his barely visible smile – that was surely –

Ah, yes. Neville’s stomach plummeted into his feet, but without the usual accompanying sensation of surprise. Of course Clivert would come to the ransom delivery. Of course. Ted had given a long, detailed talk about the vampires that had captured Neville in Calais, and one of the names and descriptions that had stuck with Neville was that of the vampire that had kicked him so viciously around the room, causing most of the damage to his still rather tender kidneys.

But really, it made sense. Clivert, as Ted had said, not a little bitterly, had always been disdainful of Ted’s contributions, and had repeatedly warned ‘Maman’, the head of the entire operation, that having a vampire raised partly as a wizard in his former life was not a good strategy. Neville fought not to swallow in fear as he pretended to inspect the vacated seat before gliding into the booth and taking it. The hooded vampire that had just spoken in something close to Clivert’s slightly nasal tone made a gesture towards the other hooded ones, and soon Neville was looking into Clivert’s dead green eyes with as much disdain as he could manage.

The shivering person he’d noted from the start, however, remained hooded. So, then – down to business.

“I suppose my daughter-in-law is present?” Neville inquired briskly, reaching as calmly as possible into his robes for the signed parchment of the (fake) law – the one the very first group of protesting vampires had wanted to have passed. Clivert smiled coldly, drawing the shivering figure to his side and removing their hood with artificial tenderness. Neville sniffed disdainfully at Angelina’s wide eyed, staring face, ignoring how she began to shake harder. “Surely you jest, this is not –”

“I am not interested in your intrigues, Lucius,” Clivert said sharply, eyes narrowing at the parchment Neville had just set daintily on the table. “Your spies have surely told you who your son’s whore looks like. Is that the –”

“It is, Monsieur.” Neville smiled coldly. “Examine it, so we can be done with this farce.” Clivert snatched at it, barely even looking in his direction, and Neville affected a glance at the watch, hoping inwardly that this would just go as simply as possible. The other two vampires exchanged a look and rose, dragging the still-shaking Angelina to her feet. Clivert stood slowly, turning the gilt-edged paper over and over in his hands with a look of painful hunger on his face. Relief surged through Neville powerfully, and he copied Clivert’s slow rise. “My dear daughter, let us be gone.” Angelina was pushed none-too-gently in his direction, and he simply took her arm, fighting the urge to steady her and calm her down. “A pleasure doing business, Monsieur –”

Clivert suddenly cleared his throat. “Wait.” Neville turned around slowly, affecting surprise, the watch readied in his hand. Had it been two seconds for activation, or four?

“Go on ahead, my dear,” Neville said, instead, to Angelina, pressing the watch firmly into her shaking hand.

“Whose signature is on this?” Clivert said slowly, eyes now filling with anger. His companions began to edge slowly towards Angelina, who was looking even more wide-eyed and fearful by the second – “Antoine, detain her!”

Angelina vanished with a crack ( _four seconds, then_ ), and Neville spun into action, darting around the slightly hesitating, incredulous vampires and under the table in their booth. One of them made for him with a snarl, but his crossbow was already out, and his entire mind was focused on enlarging and deploying and enlarging and deploying, despite the rotting, ashy remains of his first attacker stinging horribly in his eyes. Screams of anger and fear rang out beyond his not-so-cosy spot under the table, and Neville, still spraying stakes out from his mediocre hiding place, hoped to god that he hadn’t hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it.

And then Neville dug frantically into his pockets as one last pair of angry footsteps thudded onto his table, wholly out of reach, and there were no more stakes –

“You’re marked, Lucius – aren’t you?” Clivert’s voice was ragged, strained. Probably from all the running. Neville, deciding to at least try to make some kind of last stand, blasted his way out from under the table, hoping viciously that the bastard had been hurt, and began firing spells in every direction. But at the fourth cry of “ _Exculpo!”_ something dug what felt like steely claws into his neck, and the spell died on his lips, but not on his wand – the hand he could now feel around his neck shook horribly, but didn’t let go.

“Interesting precaution, Mr. Malfoy, I’ll concede that,” Clivert said, his tone growing louder with every syllable. “But you forgot something – I can still kill you, marked or not.” The hand disappeared and Neville fought desperately to escape, knowing already that he would fail, that his arms would be crying out in strain even as foul breath caressed his aching neck, and fangs, and suddenly –

No more.

 

*    *    *

 

It was quite a shock, then, that Neville found that his eyes now opened of their own accord. An excruciating pain was ebbing very slowly; a harsh, acrid pain that felt like acid was eating away at every bit of his body, and he could now hear the faint sounds of someone chanting something. Something like a spell –

Neville felt his body twitch, more of the pain ebbing suddenly, and the chanting became clearer. He stopped breathing, trying to see if he could tell who it was, and someone shook him, other, panicking voices cutting across the chanting one. Pain throbbed in his arms and legs as he was wrenched away from the person shaking him, and the chanting became clearer still, the voice of the chanter sounding almost like –

“Theodore! Stop, it’s enough!” Neville blinked – that was Snape, he was sure of it – and darkness began to descend again. This time, it was slow and not half as painful, and Neville welcomed it, letting his unseeing eyes close of his own volition.

 

*    *    *

 

“Neville?”

Hermione. Or, at least, Neville thought so. He’d been hearing voices for the last half hour, all different, all strange, and this voice might just be one sent to test him, to torture him, or –

“He’s still delirious,” someone said, hoarsely, from very near by. Too near by. Neville shifted away from the direction it came from, because – “See? Probably doesn’t even know it’s you –”

“Of course he does,” the Hermione-voice insisted, the stubborn lilt of the phrase sounding even more like Hermione. The stranger nearby laughed, his laughter sounding cracked. Dry.

“I was like that for two weeks, after –”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Hermione-voice said. “He’s not – he’s not been turned. It’s not documented. Just because you offered –”

“I’m just volunteering my experience, that’s all. The nurses said he’d wake up five days from now, and he’s awake today – clearly no one’s ever seen this sort of thing before. For all you know –”

“Just because you gave him blood doesn’t give you a right to –”

“Ted?” Neville hesitated at the silence his garbled word caused, but didn’t hesitate long. From the way the Hermione-voice was ranting, it could only be one person the stranger was (or was imitating) – “Is Angelina – she alright?”

Familiar arms surrounded him in a hard, unrelenting grip just this side of shaky. “Neville, you _idiot_. You could have Portkeyed with her, you dolt –”

“Oh, Neville, we’ve been so worried –”

“ – and what would you have done if your Severus didn’t know that fucking spell, eh? What would _I_ have done?” Ted’s voice was steadily becoming more ragged, and it hurt. It hurt to hear his smooth tones shaking, wavering as if he was too angry to care if it manifested as tears – “You idiot. You’re always a fucking idiot –”

“Don’t say that to him, you – you vampire!” Neville jerked. Hermione sounded so – so afraid, so strained – “He’s barely even your friend, and you dare –”

“What’s going on?” Neville breathed a sigh of relief as Severus’ irate tones filled the tense silence, overshadowed the sound of Ted’s harsh, ragged breaths. Not enough, of course, as Neville could feel them in his hair – “Hermione, did I not tell you to inform me when he woke? And for goodness’ _sake_ , Theodore, pull yourself together –”

“Fuck off,” Ted mumbled, pressing damp lips to Neville’s slightly itchy neck. “Just get out, both of you. No right, you’ve no right.” He let out a sigh, almost a sob, making it strange to hear him continue to say, in stronger tones – “I mean it, Severus. Go away.”  
   
Severus sighed, suddenly, and Neville began to hear the sounds of quiet, fierce argument, conducted in barely audible, frantic Hermione-whispers and hissing, sharp Severus ones. From the strangled protest and the sound of heels clacking rapidly out of the room, Neville assumed that Severus had won. By then, of course, all audible sounds were retreating, winking in and out as if Neville had only dreamed them, and was waking up to something different.

It was comforting, then, to feel the warmth of Ted’s arms around him, reassuring him that he was alive more than the garbled mutters of “stupid idiot” could ever do.

 

*    *    *

 

The weeks crawled by. Neville regained the use of his voice more slowly than anything else – an interestingly useful thing, as it happened, as he had no trouble suppressing his screams when Ted’s tongue went places he wasn’t quite used to having explored even now. Harry came by after the third blistering letter Neville sent his way, and was nicely contrite and accepting of the perfectly irate lecture Ted gave him in Neville’s place. Hermione came around the same day, after witnessing the entire argument in her Animagus form that afternoon. It had given Neville quite the turn to see her sobbing form materialise out of the corner he’d been hearing scratching in all day, but his fear went away readily enough after Hermione was discreetly identified by Harry while she hugged the rather embarrassed Ted a little tighter than he was used to.

The sense of invaded privacy did not, of course, and the first thing Neville had done when his voice had come back as a whisper the day after the mega reconciliation was to have a firm chat with the nurse in charge of his private room about a nice strong anti-Animagus ward.

Severus stayed angry longer than anyone else, as usual, and, as Neville reflected, had certainly not told the truth during the last little talk they’d had over Neville’s most recent dose of super-strength Blood Replenisher. No one, of course, was telling him anything more than the fact that Clivert and the other vampires were very very dead, that Lucius had publicly spoken to Gran for the first time in seventy years, and that Angelina was now six months along and still firmly refusing to live in the Malfoy Manor. Neville ignored it for now, just as he ignored the fact that his Blood Replenisher tasted suspiciously more like blood nowadays.

Well, not to Ted, anyway, who’d seen right through his sadly unfeigned disgust at the dose yesterday morning and had shrugged it off as St. Mungo’s insisting he be tested for all the normal vampire cravings.

Neville, who had been dreaming wistfully of the chocolate-flavoured taste-restoring potion he’d been dosed with at the very beginning of his stay in the hospital, thought that was unfair. Now, three weeks later and two days off the Blood Replenisher, all he could feel was relief that his complicated treatment for the severe blood loss and even stranger method of replenishment that had followed it was going to be over soon.

The door opened and shut, prompting Neville to turn over in bed, restless with the slight sense of distrust he still retained every time he heard someone come in. This time, instead of looking immediately to see who it was, Neville let his eyes remain closed, and tried to listen for clues instead, to exercise his hearing, which had improved beyond what it had been before the whole Calais situation.

A deliciously familiar smooth whisper of _Colloportus_ broke the silence, and Neville smiled almost immediately. Ted, then, obviously. Everyone else announced their presence almost immediately, and no one had said the spell with that slow, sexy intonation. Feigning sleep, Neville mumbled a string of nonsense, turning over in a parody of restlessness in a way he knew would leave an inviting stretch of space open on his bed.

Unfortunately – “I know you’re awake, you know.” Neville sighed. Ted was never one to be deceived, or even one to pretend to be deceived. It was occasionally rather disheartening. “Sleep well?” An agreeable rustle or two hit Neville’s ears then, and by the time Ted finally whispered a _Silencio_ in the direction of the door, he’d moved over again, peeling back some of the blanket that covered his tingling skin. “You know, I’m starting to think you never put clothes on in here, you dirty-minded sod.”

Neville couldn’t restrain a grin. “You know you love it.”

“As long as you remain clothed around that nurse of yours, I’m perfectly fine with it,” Ted said, his voice going deliciously low as he bumped and crawled onto the bed, in sitting position, his hands already tugging Neville up from under the warm blanket. “Are you cold?”

Neville mouthed a no, then opened his eyes. The light hurt, as low as it probably was, and he told himself that that was why he turned and buried his face in Ted’s lap. It was just there, accessible, you name it.

Ted’s hand felt like a warm splash against his cheek, and Ted’s lips on Neville’s awkwardly positioned arm felt even better. But the best thing was the way Ted smelt, the way he smelt when Neville dug recalcitrant fingers into his tenting briefs and tugged them down, Ted’s soft groans washing over him as if from a little farther away.

Wincing at a crick in his neck after a minute of long, slow licks, Neville got on his knees properly, dragging Ted’s willing body down the bed so – right – right there. Ted distracted him with a kiss then, digging his own hands into Neville’s pyjama bottoms and playing teasingly with his cock, and Neville basked in the attention for a moment, groaning into Ted’s mouth as he squeezed and was squeezed –

“All right – that’s enough,” Neville finally snapped, finally forcing himself to pull back from Ted’s enticing tongue. “I’m trying to do something here, for Merlin’s sake –”

“Then do it,” Ted said, an arrogant smile flashing across his face. Neville rolled his eyes and began to move rapidly downwards, smirking as Ted finally grasped what he was going to do and began wiggling his hips suggestively. After a teasing lick or two up and down his lover’s trembling inner thigh, Neville caught the slowly hardening cock in his mouth and steadied it with his hands, finding that he relished the taste, just a little more than usual. Ted moaned and pushed into his mouth, and Neville pinched his balls and squeezed at them and began to lick slower despite Ted’s pleas, remembering yet again that he had his own agenda for now.

Ted caught on quickly, reaching jerkily under Neville’s abandoned pillow for the lotion they had quickly found as soon as Neville pulled off. His fingers were as cool and rough as usual, one set working Neville’s helpless nipples as the other touched and teased Neville deep down until he was faint and squirming and trying to hold back pleas. Ted gave up his game unusually quickly, his breath slightly ragged and hot against Neville’s neck as his hands roamed and squeezed and caressed. He moved distressingly slow, dragging begging groans out of Neville as his cock slid in and out inch by slow inch, sometimes scraping that spot that always had him melting in Ted’s arms.

Coming was like a strange sunburst in the pit of Neville’s stomach. It twisted him, stretched him out as Ted continued to caress and slide in and out, murmuring nothings against his cheek and finally – suddenly – sinking careful teeth into his neck. Neville felt his head loll backwards as hot, ragged pleasure swam through him, dulled a bit by the fact that he’d just exploded off the brink, and he felt more than heard Ted’s cry as he came.

They shuddered together for a while, Neville squeezing back against Ted shamelessly as Ted’s fingers stroked through his sweaty hair. Neville barely felt the pain as Ted licked at his soon-to-be bruised neck – when had he ended the bite, anyway? Neville –

“Stop thinking.” – couldn’t tell. Ted shifted against him, his softened cock feeling very odd but still sort of good inside Neville. “I mean it, Neville.” A soft, tired kiss was pressed to Neville’s neck, and then Ted began to pull out. Neville clenched his arse, almost involuntarily, and Ted groaned, making him grin. “And you say _I’m_ insatiable.”

“Stop talking,” Neville ordered, turning over heedlessly, ignoring the lukewarm trickle of come down the insides of his thighs as he did so. “Shut up.”

Ted smiled at that, darkly, but obeyed. 

 

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

>  _Original endnote:_ Perhaps I’m shallow, but one of my main reasons for writing this was to have something else people really have fun reading, as much fun as I have writing my fics in general. This idea just appealed to me – hit me bang out of the blue. At first, I thought I’d have to use another canon character, but, once my wacky plot had taken slightly fuller form, no. *smiles evilly* I have no idea why I’m doing this, but it’s fun – I hope it is for all of you too.  
>  _E. M._


End file.
